To the Waters and the Wild
by Paimpont
Summary: While flying back from Godric's Hollow, Hagrid accidentally drops baby Harry over a wild forest. Harry is raised by rebel fairies until his Hogwarts letter arrives. The Dark Lord is in for a surprise... HP/LV romance. SLASH.
1. Prologue

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**...**

_Come away, O human child! _

_To the waters and the wild _

_With a faery hand in hand, _

_For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand._

(From W. B. Yeats: "The Stolen Child")

**...**

**Summary: **Flying back from Godric's Hollow, Hagrid accidentally drops baby Harry over a wild forest. Harry is raised by rebel fairies until his Hogwarts letter arrives. The Dark Lord is in for a surprise... HP/LV romance.

**Rating: M **for slash (same-sex love) in later chapters.

**Warning:** This is a Harry/Voldemort romance. If that's not the sort of story you want to read, please turn back now.

...

The motorcycle blazed through the darkening sky like a comet of steel and fire. A trail of flames and smoke lingered in its wake, but the roar of its engine was drowned by the sound of loud sobs.

"I can' believe it! Lily and James Potter, murdered..." The driver's half-choked mutterings turned into a wail, and he tore at his goggles, which were fogged up with tears. "Oh, damn, I can' see a blessed thing through these blasted goggles."

The motorcycle careened wildly through the evening sky for a moment until the driver managed to push the misty goggles up onto his broad forehead. "Tha's better now. At least I can see the blessed sky now... But oh, jus' thinkin' of poor Lily an' James, struck dead by that monster! An' poor little Harry left an orphan, with no one in the whole wide world to look after him, except fer a couple o' Muggles!" The driver blew his nose loudly onto the sleeve of his rugged leather coat and wiped his eyes with his enormous hands. He blinked in surprise at the ground, which was suddenly alarmingly close and rushing at him at a strange angle, and he straightened out the flying motorcycle with an oath.

Then the driver flew on through the dark blue evening air towards his distant destination, apparently completely unaware that a small bundle had just detached itself from the sidecar of the motorcycle and was hurtling towards the ground far below.

...

"There they are, finally!" The old man with the long white hair and beard turned his face expectantly towards the darkening sky. He greeted the rider who emerged out of the darkness on the enchanted motorcycle with a friendly nod. "I trust everything went well, Mr. Hagrid?"

The giant rider landed his motorbike with a small thud on the quiet suburban street and came to a screeching halt in front of the old man. "Oh, very well, Professor Dumbledore! No troubles at all. He's a good baby, little Harry. Quiet as a mouse, he's been. I haven't heard a peep out of him since we were flyin' over Wales. Hush, better not wake him. I think he's asleep still." He peered tenderly into the sidecar. The next moment, an expression of horror passed over his large, homely face. "Oh, no. Oh, _no!"_

"What is it, Mr. Hagrid?" asked the old man sharply.

His companion, an elderly lady dressed in green robes, rushed over to the motorcycle. "Is something wrong with little Harry?"

"Oh, no!" The giant sank down on the sidewalk, sobbing wildly. "He's not _there! _He's gone! I.. I mus' have dropped him on the way... Little Harry Potter is _gone!"_

"What are you saying, Mr. Hagrid?" The green-clad lady's face was pale. "Good heavens! You _dropped _him while flying? Wasn't there a seat belt? Oh, no, this was Sirius Black's motorcycle, wasn't it? I don't suppose he would have found much use for a seat belt... Oh, dear God! The poor child must be lying dead out there somewhere, dashed against the ground..." She covered her face with her hands, and a small strangled sob escaped her. "Gone, like his poor mother and father!"

"Gone?" The old man stood frozen for a moment, staring at the empty sidecar. Then he sighed deeply and sank down on the sidewalk next to the giant. "Gone. And we had hoped, for a wild moment, that he was The Boy Who Lived... Oh, don't blame yourself, Mr. Hagrid! It was an accident, I'm sure, another meaningless tragedy on this night that has seen so much tragedy already."

"Gone," repeated the lady tonelessly. "Oh, poor child!" She turned to the old man. "Professor Dumbledore, we must get some brooms and go out and look for him at once. Mr. Hagrid, can you give us any idea at all as to where this tragedy occurred?"

The giant shook his head, bewildered. "I can' say, Professor." Tears began streaming down his face again. "He's dead, isn't he? Poor little Harry!"

"Dead? I'm afraid so, Mr. Hagrid." The old man's voice trembled. "The fall must have killed him instantly. There is no sense in even looking for him, Minerva; he could be anywhere." His lined ancient face looked even older for a moment. "Harry Potter, the boy who survived Lord Voldemort's curse, is gone forever."

...

"Where did you get _that_?" Twig raised his lantern and glanced suspiciously at the small bundle in his friend Leaf's arms.

"Found him." Leaf gazed down at the small creature he was holding and made soothing bird noises at him. The infant smiled in his sleep.

"A human child? You can't keep him," said Twig softly. "You know that, don't you?"

"Of course I can keep him. I found him, so I will raise him." Leaf didn't take his eyes off the baby in his arms.

Twig shook his head firmly. "You _can't _keep him, Leaf. It's against the Old Laws. As you know, I'm not opposed to breaking a few of the Rules - the more, the merrier; the blasted Faerie Queen is just making them up anyway - but the Old Laws are another matter. If you take a human child, you have to give them one of your own in exchange without them noticing; otherwise the human parents will be sad. But you don't have any children of your own, which means that you can't keep one of _theirs_. You have to give the child back to its parents."

"No." Leaf brushed a small, pale finger over the baby's forehead. "The humans didn't want this child. They threw him away. He came flying through the air, and I caught him just in time. That makes him mine, I should think."

Twig bent over the infant and shone the light into the little face. "That doesn't make any sense, Leaf. It's a beautiful child - why would they want to throw him away? It's been centuries since humans threw children away, anyway. I don't think they do that anymore. You really need to give him back."

"But I don't even know who his parents are or where to find them. He just came flying through the air like a shooting star. I didn't see anyone, just a streak of fire across the sky before he fell. And besides, he's _broken_!" There was a triumphant gleam in Leaf's large dark eyes now. The words tumbled out of him. "That's probably why they didn't want to keep him. You know that we _are_ allowed to keep injured baby animals abandoned by their parents; that's how I got Wolf in the first place." He patted the large silver-grey animal by his side fondly. "The same Law would apply to human babies too, don't you think?"

Twig looked doubtfully at the infant. "But he doesn't _seem_ broken. Wolf had lost a leg when you found him, but this one seems perfectly fine. There is a small scratch on his forehead, but it's not even bleeding. I'm sure it can be healed easily. The humans wouldn't have thrown away a perfectly good child over something as small as _that._"

"Touch the scar, and you will see!" said Leaf eagerly. "It's much more than just a scratch."

The other fairy touched the baby's forehead lightly. An expression of astonishment passed over his small, pale face. "But... But there is something _in _there! It's a splinter of some sort, a shard... It seems to be a _piece of broken soul!_" His voice sank to a whisper. "How is that even possible?"

"Exactly! I knew you would feel it, too!" Leaf smiled. "Don't you see, Twig? _That_ must have been why the humans threw him away. Because of the shard." His eyes were shining now.

His friend nodded slowly. "You may be right about that. What a very curious thing! I wonder how that broken piece of soul ended up inside him in the first place? I have never heard of such a thing before."

Leaf shrugged. "Oh, who knows? Probably some human wizard messing around with magic he couldn't control. Humans are terrible with magic - everyone knows that. Half the time, they wave these funny sticks around - it's a wonder they don't take someone's eyes out." He regarded the infant with a fond smile. "But I will train little Wind properly; he will be good at magic."

Twig stood lost in thought for a moment. Then he said: "Listen, Leaf, I don't think you should call him "Wind". It's a lovely name, of course, but he's _human, _and that's not a human name. Humans love strange long names, not little plain ones. You need to find him a long name." He peered curiously into the baby's blanket. "Wait, there are letters on the cloth he is wrapped in." He pointed to some curvy letters embroidered onto the baby's blanket. "It says _Harry. _Could that be his name, do you think?"

"Harry?" Leaf pondered this for a moment, and he whispered the unfamiliar name over and over. Then he nodded. "Yes. I suppose that _is _his name. It does suit him. It's a little long, of course, but seeing that he's human, he might not mind."

The two fairies stood in silence for a moment, regarding the small child. Then Twig asked: "So, what shall we do about the shard? Can you try to take it out? That splinter of broken soul might hurt him if you leave it in, like a thorn left in your finger."

Leaf thought for a little while. "Of course I could take the shard out; that's easy enough. I just don't know if I should. It's part of Harry now, isn't it, even if it's a different soul? It feels rather..." He frowned and appeared to be looking for the right word. Then he nodded. "Sad. Yes, I think that's it. It feels a little sad. But Harry should be the one to decide what to do with the shard. When he is older. I mean, it's _his _shard, isn't it? Maybe he wants to keep it."

The baby stirred softly in his sleep, and he rubbed a small fist against his forehead.

"I suppose that's possible." Twig looked at the baby, a baffled expression on his face. Then he sighed. "Well, if you are going to keep the baby, I suppose you will simply have to raise _both _ of them for now, Harry and the Shard."

Leaf nodded and stroked the scar on the baby's forehead. "Strange, isn't it? The scar almost looks like a lightning bolt."

"Like a lightning bolt?" Twig looked doubtfully at the little red mark. "I think it looks like he hit a tree branch on his way down from the heavens."

"It's a lightning bolt," said Leaf firmly. "And when he is older, I will tell him lovely stories about dark nights and silver lightning and enchanted children falling from the sky."

Twig smiled. "You do tell marvelous stories, Leaf. Even the Faerie Queen has never denied that, much as she disapproves of everything else about you. Harry will enjoy listening to your tales, I'm sure." After a moment's pause, he whispered: "Do you think Shard will hear the stories, too? Or do you think he is too broken to hear?"

Leaf kissed the jagged scar on the baby's forehead. "We will find out..."


	2. The Boy Who Lived

**~To The Waters and the Wild~**

**Summary: **Flying back from Godric's Hollow, Hagrid accidentally drops baby Harry over a wild forest. Harry is raised by rebel fairies until his Hogwarts letter arrives. The Dark Lord is in for a surprise... HP/LV romance.

**Rating: M **for slash (same-sex love) between Harry and Voldemort in later chapters.

**Author's Note: **Thank you for all the lovely reviews and comments! Sorry about the long absence. Bad writer's block - trying to get over it.

...

**~Chapter 1: The Boy Who Lived~**

**...**

Harry leaned against the trunk of the large oak tree and sighed. Shard was in one of his moods again. No matter how many lovely stories Harry told him to cheer him up, Shard would just hover darkly in the back of Harry's mind, thinking of bleak orphanages, violent beatings, and angry flashes of green light. Today, he was musing on the boy named Tom again, the orphan with rain-grey eyes and dark curls who performed magic in secret. The boy was angry, and Shard thought of him doing terrible things to the other children in the orphanage.

Harry didn't think it was a very good story.

_I've got a better story, _he told Shard in his mind. _One night, the grey-eyed boy is standing by his open bedroom window at the orphanage, looking out at the moon-silvered garden, and he senses something stirring nearby. He feels a sudden rush of wind, and then he sees a great silver dragon hovering in the darkened air outside his window. The dragon speaks to him, and its voice is as deep as th__e night itself, and as vast and soothing as the moonlight. Climb up on my back, it says, and I will show you all the wonders of the world. _

But Shard just sulked and said that nothing like this could ever happen. It's just a silly story, and he doesn't want to think about imaginary silver dragons.

_But the dragon is beautiful, _thought Harry, _in the great breathless way in which storms are beautiful, and the roars of waterfalls. When the grey-eyed boy first climbs up on its back, he expects the scales to be hard, like metal, but they are soft and strong like holly branches under his hands. _

Or yew branches, thought Shard, half interested now.

_The scales are just like yew branches, _agreed Harry. _Immensely ancient, with that faint cold scent about them that yew trees have. And then the dragon lifts off, and it carries to boy into the night, and the boy can feel the rush of wind through his hair. He knows in his heart that the dragon will be his best and truest friend in the world, and that they will have all sorts of wondrous adventures together._

It's a stupid story, thought Shard moodily. Whoever heard of being friends with silver dragons? Snakes are better. They just do what you command them to do and don't carry you off anywhere.

Shard adored serpents, and speaking Snake seemed to come naturally to him. Shard was terribly clever with languages, and he often muttered phrases and curses in strange intricate tongues to himself in Harry's mind. But Snake was the only _useful_ language he knew well, apart from regular human speech. Harry sometimes tried to teach Shard some of the other forms of speech he was learning from Leaf, but Shard was a bad listener. He didn't want to learn any Stag or Wolf or any of the Bird dialects, and he just scoffed at the idea of learning Tree. It was a good thing the trees couldn't hear what he was muttering about them inside Harry's head, for Harry knew that some of them got easily offended, like the willows.

"Harry! There you are!" Leaf came dashing through the undergrowth of the forest, closely followed by Twig. Leaf was waving a strange rectangular piece of parchment in his hand. "Look at this! A large barn owl who introduced himself as Hooo landed next to me when I was fishing by the stream, and he said that he had a letter for Harry Potter. He told me who it was from, but the name was so long it makes my head hurt just to think about it."

"An envelope!" Harry reached eagerly for the bone-white rectangle. "I've read about those! There are stories about them in some of the books in your library, Leaf. Apparently, people put their letters inside envelopes if they want to make sure that no one will see their messages except the ones they are meant for. Shard got a letter in an envelope once, too, and he was terribly excited about it." Harry turned the parchment over in his hand. The envelope had writing in Human on it: _To Mr. Harry Potter, Rebel Fairy Hideout, The Wild Woods. _Harry opened the flap of the envelope carefully and peered inside. Yes, there was a letter! How exciting!

He unfolded the letter, and Leaf and Twig leaned curiously over his shoulder. They were just the same height as Harry now, as long as he was sitting down and they were standing. Twig squinted. "These letter are very curly," he complained. "I don't know if we will be able to read this."

"Harry can," said Leaf immediately, the pride shining through in his voice. "I've taught him Human very carefully, both the tongue and the script. This is just a very fancy version of the writing."

Twig shook his head slowly. "Humans! They _had _a perfectly good script - remember the runes, so nice and plain? - and then they had to go and put all these little loops and twists in. Looks like fern fronds run wild."

Leaf shushed him. "Let him read! Tell us, Harry - what does it say?"

Harry cleared his throat and read slowly:

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Leaf and Twig fell silent.

"Maybe it's written in one of those lost human tongues," said Leaf finally, scratching his head. "Atlantean, maybe? Try further down - I see a bit in regular Human speech down there."

Harry read on:

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._  
><em>Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.<em>

_Yours sincerely, _

_Minerva McGonagall_  
><em>Deputy Headmistress<em>

Harry stared at the letter. He could feel his heart beating faster. "Wait, so this means... I'm going to school? With the humans?"

Leaf thumped him on the back. "Very clever, Harry! I told you, didn't I, Twig, that he knows almost everything by now? Can you imagine - only eleven seasons old, and he can already make sense of a letter like _that,_ with all those long words!"

"But... But that means he will leave us, doesn't it?" There was a slight trembling in Twig's voice.

"Oh." Leaf fell suddenly silent as the message of the letter began to sink in. After a long while, he said: "Well, it would be rude to turn down their invitation, wouldn't it? They would think that Harry had no manners at all, if he didn't go... Although I suppose we can send a message back saying that he has a cold and can't come."

Harry thought about it for a long time. He could sense Leaf and Twig holding their breaths. Finally, he said: "Well, I think I should like to go, at least for a while. I have always wondered what schools are like. I have read about them, of course, but I don't know if they are all the same. They teach you all sorts of things there, it seems, and you make new friends, and then you get to return to your family when the term is over. Perhaps I will go for a while and see what it's like. If it's all right with you, of course. Wait, are you crying, Leaf?"

"Certainly not," muttered Leaf indistinctly, wiping his face quickly on a fern. "I think it sounds like a splendid adventure. Perhaps you can take Wolf with you, just for company?"

Harry scanned the second page of the letter. "No, I don't think so. It says you can bring an owl or a cat or a toad."

"Well, what if you don't know an owl or a cat or a toad who wants to go?" Twig frowned.

"It's all right," said Harry soothingly. "I'll go and ask the snowy owls who live in the old fir tree if one of them wants to come. We are great friends. Their youngest daughter is quite adventurous; she often talks about traveling and seeing the world."

He glanced further down the page. "Hm. There is a whole list of things they want me to bring. All sorts of books - we will have to go to where the Humans live to get those - and black robes and a hat."

"Black robes?" Twig shook his head slightly. "For a child? Humans have funny tastes, don't they? I suppose you are allowed to bring some of your nice white and green wool clothes as well?"

"I hope so," said Harry. "Oh, and I will need to bring a pewter cauldron - that's probably for cooking my food. And a... wand? What's that?"

"Oh, I've heard of those!" Leaf lit up. "It's just a stick. Human wizards use them when they do magic."

"Why?"

"Well..." Leaf thought for a moment. Then he shook his head. "I forget exactly why. But the human wizards like waving sticks around. You have to be very careful around them, though - you don't want to take your eye out with one of those things. They can be very pointy."

Harry looked around at the tall trees that surrounded them. "What sort of stick should I bring? They are all so lovely."

"I saw a young human wizard once," put in Twig helpfully. "He was swinging a dead blackthorn stick."

"A _dead_ stick?" Harry felt puzzled. "Why would anyone want to use a dead one? Surely, it will be much nicer to have a twig with life sap in it. I think I'll ask the holly for one of her branches; she is a good friend of mine."

"So you speak Tree fluently now?" Twig nodded approvingly. "You have taught him well, Leaf. They will be very pleased with him at this school."

Leaf smiled and flushed. "Oh, I can't take credit for that. Harry is a natural when it comes to languages. Particularly Snake, of course - that speech just seems to come so easily to him - but he can speak the tongues of most of the other animals and birds by now. He even speaks Tree, which is much more difficult for humans, with just the slightest trace of an accent..."

Twig stood still, lost in thought. Then he said: "What about Shard, Harry?"

Harry smiled. "He will come too, of course! Maybe a new place will be good for him; he's been so restless lately. Poor Shard; I feel so bad for him sometimes. It can't be easy, being caught inside someone else's mind like that. Last night, he had a bad dream about a boy growing up and killing his own father with a yew stick. When he woke up, his mind was filled with darkness, and he didn't feel better until I told him the story about the boy who fell in love with the morning star."

"That's a lovely story," said Leaf softly. "It always makes me cry. Did Shard cry at all when you told it to him?"

Harry thought about it. "Maybe a little, at the very end. It's sometimes hard to tell with him. Maybe the crying part of him is broken. I could feel something stirring in him, though, as we got to the part about the morning star's song, a sort of sadness and happiness intertwined."

Leaf looked at Harry with earnest black eyes. "Listen, Harry, if you ever get weary of having Shard in your mind, you know that Twig and I can try to get him out..."

But Harry shook his head firmly. "Thank you, Leaf. But I can't bear the idea of being separated from Shard. He is _mine, _and I love him, even if he's a little difficult sometimes. And I do think that he loves me too, except that he doesn't really know anything about love."

Leaf looked at him for a long time. "I suppose you will just have to tell him the story about the boy and the morning star over and over until he understands it."

Harry nodded slowly. He didn't want to tell Leaf this, but sometimes he was worried that poor Shard was too broken to understand that story.

...

Harry blinked quickly and glanced around King's Cross Station. Walking down the platform at the train station was like bring caught up in the great rush of migrating birds in the autumn. Humans swirled all around him, laughing and shouting, and he clutched the school trunk full of supplies that Leaf and Twig had managed to provide for him. Apparently, they knew a nice goblin who was willing to bring them all sorts of wonderful books and vials and cauldrons in exchange for a few handfuls of diamonds.

Wooo, the youngest of the snowy owls from the fir tree, had come along with him, and she now sat perched on top of his head. They had studied the text books together as soon as the goblin brought them, and Wooo had taken a great fancy to one of the names from _The History of Magic. _She insisted that she wanted to go by "Hedwig" from now on, and Harry was happy to oblige.

Leaf and Twig and Wolf had wisely decided not to follow Harry and Hedwig further than the station gate, and Harry immediately realized that this was a wise choice: Leaf and Twig would have been trampled in the crowd. Harry pulled out the small piece of paper they had given him. "Platform 9 3/4" it said. Now, where would that be?

"Do you need help, dear?" A large human woman with a soft voice paused by Harry's side. Several children of assorted sizes trailed after her. Harry knew at once that they must be wizards. They all had red hair and smiling eyes, and Harry took an immediate liking to them.

"I'm looking for platform 9 3/4," he said. "Do you mind if I follow you?"

The woman beamed at him. "Of course, dear! Are you on your own, then? Not to worry, just follow us. _Merlin's beard!_" She suddenly leaned forward and looked more closely at Harry. Her kind brown eyes widened. "How remarkable! You look just like poor James Potter! Except for your eyes... Oh, mercy me, I swear you have Lily's eyes! How is this possible? What is your name, dear?"

Harry stretched out his hand in greeting, like Leaf has shown him, and said: "My name is Harry Potter. I am very pleased to meet you."

The woman stifled a scream, and she stared at him as if he were a ghost. "Harry... Potter?" Her voice sank to a whisper. "But that's not possible... Harry Potter is dead. But good gracious me, you _are _about the right age... I remember thinking, when I heard that James and Lily had a son, that he would go to school with my Ron..."

She stood quite still for a moment, irresolute. Then she reached forward, slowly, and brushed Harry's unruly hair away from his forehead. She stiffened as her eyes fell on his scar.

"The scar..." Her voice was still a whisper. "Hagrid said there was a scar, a curious one, shaped like a bolt of lightning. He saw it when he lifted the baby out of the ruined house, before that fateful journey through the night sky."

Suddenly, the woman flung her arms around Harry. "Oh, you poor child! You are alive, after all! You poor, poor child!"

Harry could sense the bewildered glanced of the red-haired children lingering on him.

"Who is this boy, Mum?" said one of them. "Where do you know him from?"

But the smallest one, a little girl, appeared to catch on more quickly than the others. "He's _Harry Potter_?" she whispered. "The one from the stories?"

The woman nodded eagerly. "Yes, he's Harry Potter. I can see it now. We must let Minerva and Albus and the others know that he's _here, _that he's alive." She glanced down the platform and caught sight of some figures a little distance away and raised her voice. "Minerva! Severus! Hagrid! And Professor... Oh, I forget his name. You have to come here at once!"

Three human wizards and a gigantic man hurried towards them.

"What is it, Molly? Is something wrong?" asked one of the wizards, an elderly lady, quickly.

"Wrong? No, quite the contrary!" The woman called Molly sounded breathless. "Look at this child! Just look at him! Can you see who he is? This is Harry Potter, James and Lily's son! He is alive after all!"

The four new arrivals stared at Harry for a moment. Then one of them, a pale man with night-black hair, whispered: "Oh, Merlin. He has Lily's eyes..." He reached out and touched Harry's cheek, hesitantly. "Is this possible? Lily's child is alive?"

"He looks like James," said the elderly lady in a trembling voice.

"Unfortunately." The pale man's voice grew colder for a moment. "But still: Lily's eyes. Something of her that survived after all..."

"Little Harry?" The giant sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around Harry in a much too tight hug. Tears were streaming down his large bearded face now. "But I dropped yeh! I killed yeh!"

"Apparently not, Mr. Hagrid." The elderly lady smiled slightly. "It _is _Harry! I was startled when his name showed up in the magical school records, and I sent the letter off, as I always do, but never in my wildest imagination did I dare to hope..." She patted Harry quicky and awkwardly on the head, and Hedwig gave her hand an affectionate peck.

"Harry P..Potter?" The last wizard had drawn closer now, and he was looking at Harry in the most curious way. He was a timid-looking young man with an elaborate turban wrapped around his head.

Harry looked at him for a long moment, and something seemed to stir in his heart. Something about this shy young wizard seemed terribly familiar...


	3. Going to Hogwarts

**~To The Waters and the Wild~**

**Rating: M **for slash (same-sex love) between Harry and Voldemort in later chapters.

...

**~Chapter 3: Going to Hogwarts~**

**...**

Harry stared, enchanted, at the young teacher with the purple turban. There was something about him that reminded Harry of the breathless stillness in the heart of the forest after nightfall, when Leaf was off looking for night-blooming healing herbs and Harry was alone with the trees and with Shard. In those quiet moments, Shard's voice, which would always be there as a murmur in Harry's mind during the day, would become as clear as the song of a nightingale, and Harry would listen to the dark and lovely moods that flowed from Shard's soul until his heart ached. He always loved Shard a little bit more in those still nighttime hours.

How odd, that this pale young professor felt so much like Shard! He had the same sort of terrible sadness about him. Perhaps someone needed to sing to him, or tell him stories about the stars?

Without thinking, Harry reached out for the sad young man. He wanted to touch his hand and whisper soothing things and tell him that everything would be all right in the end.

But the professor with the turban jumped back as if bitten by a snake, his face as white as death. The sadness was still there in his large dark eyes, but now Harry could see something else there as well: A black, cold sort of fear.

"I'm so sorry," whispered Harry. "I didn't mean to startle you." He realized that the young professor must be terribly shy, and he felt very bad about giving him such a fright. The professor even seemed to tremble slightly after the near-touch, just like baby squirrels did when you tried to pet them. He recoiled from Harry's hand as if the slightest brush of his fingers would be the death of him.

But underneath the fear, there was something else, something jagged. Broken? Yes. Broken. As if this curious man was carrying around a dark shard of his own, deep inside his soul, something very much like Harry's own Shard... Oh, how Harry wished the fearful stranger would trust him! Harry would love to get to know _his _shard as well, but he could sense the professor trying frantically to hide that piece of torn soul away, so no one would know it was there.

"My name is Harry," said Harry in his most soothing voice. "Harry Potter."

For some reason, the shy young man looked about ready to faint. "Harry... Potter? You _really_ are Ha-Harry P-P-Potter? Bu-but you are de-dead."

Dead? Well, that explained why the young man was so horribly pale. Harry smiled reassuringly at him. "Oh, no. I'm not dead at all. If I had been, I wouldn't be here, you see."

"Ho-How did you survive the ki-ki-killing curse?" The professor seemed to have a very hard time getting the words out.

"Killing curse?" Harry felt confused. "What's that?"

"The curse that killed your mother and father," breathed the woman called Molly. "The curse that should have killed you as well. Except by some miracle it didn't..." She hugged Harry again.

"Someone killed my parents?" whispered Harry. "Like a hunter, you mean?" He had sometimes wondered who his first parents had been, before Leaf. Since Leaf had told him that he fell through the sky like a small shooting star the night they met, Harry had always believed that his parents had fallen down as well, in some other part of the forest. But without someone there to catch them, they had probably died. But he had never imagined they had been killed by a hunter. He saw them in his mind now, lying quietly in the moss, pierced by cruel arrows... The thought made something twist painfully in his heart. Surely nobody would do that to _humans?_

"A hunter? I suppose you could say that." Molly's voice shook. Then she suddenly drew her breath. "Oh, no - we are forgetting the time, everyone. It's almost eleven, and we are still out here among the Muggle travelers. Children, you need to get onto the right platform! And you too, I suppose, professors... Wait, do professors travel by train to Hogwarts as well? I've never seen many of them on the train, but seeing that you are all here-"

"Of course we travel by train," muttered the elderly lady in green robes. "Some of us floo over to Hogwarts early to help get everything ready, but many of us take the train. We go in a separate unplottable compartment, of course, so the students won't... er..."

"...wear us out before we get there," finished the pale dark-haired professor next to her. His black glance lingered on Harry, and Harry's mind suddenly filled with thoughts of a lady with long red curls. He wondered who she was and why she had appeared in his mind. The lady was very pretty, and Harry thought he would like to give her a handful of woodland flowers.

"What-?" The dark-haired man stared at Harry. "Violets? Where did _they_ come from?" He seemed very confused all of a sudden.

"Come now, onto the platform!" Molly dragged Harry along by the hand. "It's through there, dear." To Harry's surprise, she pointed at a brick wall right in front of them.

Harry blinked at the solid wall in front of them. "Through _there_?"

"I know what you mean," muttered one of Molly's children, a boy of about Harry's age. "A little scary, isn't it? But my brothers have gone through loads of times. My name's Ron, by the way."

Harry was beginning to feel nervous now. "But I'm not very good at walking through stone. I can go through wood just fine, but I've only walked through rock twice, and I got a nosebleed both times. You must all be _really_ good at magic if you do this all the time. My friend Leaf was trying to teach me how to walk through stone, but we didn't finish the lessons. The stones just _push_ on you so, and it's terribly uncomfortable; it's not as simple as walking through a wooden door."

"It's not as simple as walking through a... what?" The elderly green-robed lady stared at Harry. "Sweet Merlin, where have _you_ been, child? What sort of magic...?" Her voice trailed off.

The smallest of the red-haired children turned to Harry. "Don't worry, Harry. The bricks have been enchanted to let you through. No one expects you to walk through real stone."

"Oh." Harry could breathe again now. He smiled at the little girl. "Thank you."

She smiled shyly back at him. Molly looked at her watch, and a small moan of panic escaped her. She shooed her children firmly through the brick wall, one after the other, before grabbing Harry and pushing him through as well. To Harry's relief, it was nothing like walking through actual stone; the bricks just felt a little cold against your skin, but they were very light, like a faint wind. Hedwig didn't even mind, and she was usually quite fussy about magic.

On the other side of the brick wall was another platform. It was swarming with dark-robed children and hugging and weeping parents. And beyond the madly swirling crowd... Harry gasped. What was _that? _He had never seen anything that magnificent and vast in his life. It was made of metal, but it was flaming red, like an autumn leaf, and great puffs of smoke rose from it.

"That's the Hogwarts Express," whispered Ron by his side. "That's the train that will take us to Hogwarts."

A train? Yes, Harry had read about the train in _Hogwarts: A History. _But somehow, this train was far more vast than he had imagined it.

Ron dragged Harry up a small metal staircase, and they entered into the belly of the train itself. Hedwig flew off; she has spotted some owls peeking out a window further down the train and wanted to travel with them.

Harry gazed around the train with wonder. It was like a house on the inside, with windows to look through and benches to sit on.

"Let's find a compartment," said Ron quickly. He opened a few doors until he found a little room that was empty. Harry adored the strange little room; it was warm and cozy, like Leaf's hut, and the benches were very soft.

Harry sat down next to Ron. "So now we just sit in this room until we get to Hogwarts?"

Ron nodded and leaned out the window. He was waving at his mother and his little sister. His mother's eyes were welling with tears, and she tried to hug Ron through the open window.

"Don't forget to eat your corned beef sandwiches, Ron!" She kissed him on both cheeks. "And remember to brush your teeth every night - I know how you boys are! - and... Oh, goodness me! You almost forgot Scabbers!" She reached into her pocket and pulled out a squirming furry creature shaped like a rat.

"Thanks, Mum." Ron lifted the creature into the compartment and put it down on the seat next to him. The train was beginning to move now, and Harry felt a thrill in his bones. Maybe he loved riding on trains. Or maybe it was Shard who liked to ride on trains? Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

The train picked up speed, and the station disappeared behind them. Ron sank down on his seat. He grinned at Harry, and Harry grinned back.

"So," said Ron. He looked expectantly at Harry.

"What?" Harry felt confused.

"You are _really _Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded.

"You _survived_ the killing curse, and then you survived falling off that flying motorcycle?"

"I fell off a motorcycle?" Harry glanced curiously at Ron. "Is that how I fell into the forest?"

Ron sat up straight now. "You've been in a forest all this time? By yourself? Did you survive by eating roots and bark and berries and stuff? Were you raised by wolves or something?" His eyes were shining now.

Harry shook his head slowly. "I wasn't by myself, no. And I don't like bark much, actually. It's terribly chewy, and the flavors are often bitter. I do like berries, though. I was raised by my friend Leaf. He's a fairy, not a wolf, although his friend Wolf _did_ teach me a few things..."

"You were raised by a _fairy_?" Ron's eyes grew wide. "For real? I didn't know there were any fairies left in Britain."

"Oh, there are lots of them," said Harry eagerly. "But they like to keep themselves to themselves. I don't know all of them, of course, only Leaf and his friend Twig and the rest of the Outcasts..."

"Outcast fairies-?" Ron gazed at him in fascination.

Harry shrugged. "Yes. I don't really know what that's about, the outcast part, though. Leaf and Twig and the others didn't want to talk about it much. Apparently, there was a failed uprising against the Faerie Queen years ago, and they were part of it, but they refuse to talk about it. I think some bad things happened back then, but they just change the subject when I ask."

Ron whistled. "But real fairies, though, all the same! I've heard that fairies used to have really powerful magic. Do you know any?"

Harry felt his cheeks grown hot. "A little, yes. Do you know magic?"

It was Ron's turn to flush now. "A bit. I've practiced a few spells my brothers taught me, but I'm not terribly good at them. I can try one, though, if you want." He pulled an ash twig from his pocket and pointed it solemnly at the little furry creature on the seat next to him. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow-"

The door to the compartment was flung open with a thud, and a girl with wild hair peeked in. "Has anyone seen a toad? A boy called Neville-" She broke off, eyes on Ron's wand. "Oh, you are doing magic? Let's see, then." She sat down on the bench next to Harry, an expectant look on her face.

Ron squirmed a little, but he tried the spell again: "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow. Turn this stupid fat rat yellow!" He waved his wand, but nothing happened. The small creature just looked up at him with little beady eyes.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl after a moment's silence.

Ron wrinkled his nose. "Pretty sure. Unless one of my brothers was making it up. Actually, I wouldn't put it past any of them."

"I can make him yellow for you if you want," said Harry quickly. "If that's all right with your friend, of course." He turned to the creature. "Excuse me, would you mind if I try? I could turn your fur into a lovely golden shade if you like. Or would you prefer being gray while you are in your rat form?"

A moment's silence followed, and it seemed to Harry that the creature was trembling a little. "What do you mean _in his rat form_?" asked Ron sharply.

Harry flushed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was supposed to be a secret."

"Secret? What are you talking about?" Ron seemed very confused now. Harry wondered if he had said something wrong.

"I didn't mean to offend you. Or your friend of course, the human wizard in rat form..."

The next moment, there was a crash, and the small creature tumbled to the floor. But a change came over him as he fell, and by the time he was lying on the floorboards, he had turned into a plump human man with a fearful look on his face. The man scrambled to his feet and bolted out of the compartment, slamming the door behind him.

_"What the bloody hell?"_ Ron was white as snow now, and he looked as if he was going to faint. "Scabbers?"

Harry peeked into the corridor, but the man had vanished. One of the train doors was swinging open on its hinges, as if someone had jumped off the train in a hurry.

Harry groaned. What_ had_ he done? He had no idea that grown-up wizards could be so terribly shy. This poor man was even more timid than the professor with the turban. Imagine jumping off the train just because someone spoke to you! Harry was sure he had spoken very pleasantly too, but the plump little man seemed to take it the wrong way anyway.

Harry felt horrible. "I am so terribly sorry!" he muttered as he re-entered the compartment. "I had no idea your friend was so shy, Ron. I didn't mean to startle him."

Ron gave him a very strange look. "You know what, Harry? I'm rather glad you did."

"You didn't know that your rat was an animagus?" The girl was also looking rather pale now.

Ron shook his head. "No idea. Just wait... Just wait till my brother Percy hears about this! It was _his_ bloody rat, after all. My Mum will never let him hear the end of this. A _stranger, _pretending to be a pet!" He shuddered.

The girl looked at Harry. "That was very well done, spotting an animagus like that. You must be very good at magic."

"He was raised by fairies," said Ron gravely. "This is my friend Harry. Harry Potter. The one who survived You-Know-Who! Turns out he survived falling from the flying motorcycle, too."

"Harry Potter?" The girl stared at Harry. "Really? You're _alive? _But that's... fantastic! And you were raised by _fairies? _You must know loads of magic!" Her eyes were shining now. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

"Pleased to meet you." Harry extended his hand in greeting. "That's... that's a really long name." But as soon as he had spoken, he realized that it was probably not very polite to dwell on the length of her name; the poor girl couldn't help having a name like that. He quickly changed the subject. "So who is this You-Know-Who that Ron mentioned just now? What's his name?"

But Hermione just shook her head. "His name is not spoken among wizards, Harry. It is simply not done. Whenever people wish to speak of him - which is not often - they simply say _You-Know-Who_ instead."

Harry stared at her in amazement. He knew that short names were better than long ones, of course; they felt smoother in your mouth, and their sounds were more pleasing. He silently commended Molly for giving Ron such a nice, magical little name, and he felt horrible for Hermione whose parents had burdened her with all those syllables. But to imagine - a wizard who had done away with every last syllable of his name! A wizard who was known by _no name at all! _Even the fairies would have been impressed by that! Harry felt a warm little glow inside his heart, just thinking about it. Somehow, he _had_ to meet this wondrous nameless wizard.


	4. The Sorting

**~To The Waters and the Wild~**

**~The Sorting~**

Harry glanced around the vast, crowded entrance hall. Suddenly, he longed for Leaf's quiet, comforting presence and the familiar stillness of the forest. There were children all around him now, all dressed in identical dark robes, and all at once Harry had an odd sense that he was standing in the middle of a large flock of ravens. He recalled that something similar had happened to him when he was very young. He had been exploring in a new part of the forest when he had suddenly stumbled on a bird meeting of sorts. The birds had been startled by his unexpected presence, and they had flapped and fluttered all around him until he got scared and started to cry. He wasn't going to cry now, of course, but he did feel that same sense of being much too crowded. Some of the other children looked a little pale as well; perhaps they didn't like large throngs of people either.

Ron shot Harry a friendly grin, although he didn't look too comfortable himself.

"Feeling nervous, Harry?"

"A little," whispered Harry. "You?"

Ron nodded. "A bit, yeah." His freckles were dark against the sudden pallor of his skin. "What if I get sorted into Slytherin?"

"You don't want to be in Slytherin?" Harry had looked at parts of the book called _Hogwarts: A History_ together with Hedwig, and he knew about the four houses of Hogwarts. "Why? I think green is a lovely color."

"Really?" Ron just stared at him, his mouth half open, but another boy nearby turned around when he heard what Harry said, and he smiled slightly.

"You like green, do you?" The boy had a small pointy face and hair the color of the pale golden sunlight you sometimes see in the afternoons in winter. He smiled, but he wasn't very good at it; the smile didn't seem to reach his grey eyes at all, it just played around the corners of his mouth for a moment before it vanished.

Harry nodded. "Yes, green is my favorite color." He swallowed. He was beginning to miss the lovely greenery of the forest very badly. There was so much _stone _here in school. But Harry's quick eyes had spotted a dark forest in the distance as they had approached the school, and he longed to explore it in the days to come. Perhaps he'd find someone nice to talk to in there?

The golden-haired boy studied Harry's face intently. "Is it true, what they were saying on the train? You are really Harry Potter, the boy who survived the killing curse? Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts?"

"Yes, I'm Harry." Harry extended his hand in greeting. "I don't remember surviving a curse, but I suppose I must have, or I wouldn't be here, right?"

"Right..." The boy shook Harry's hand with small, cold fingers. "I'm Malfoy, but the way. Draco Malfoy."

Ron rolled his eyes slightly as the boy said his name, and the boy pounced on him. "Think my name is funny, do you? No need to ask yours. Red hair and a hand-me-down robe - you must be a Weasley!" He turned abruptly to Harry. "You will soon find that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter."

"Better? Better at what?" asked Harry curiously, and Ron emitted a slight giggle.

Draco frowned. "Just... better. You don't want to make friends with the wrong sort, Potter. I can help you there."

Harry felt very confused. Draco sounded very helpful, but Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out what the boy was trying to help him with. "The wrong sort of what?"

The next instant, Harry was relieved to hear a small familiar-sounding voice nearby. Someone was speaking Toad! Harry peered down curiously, and spotted a small brown toad sitting on the flagged stone floor. Harry picked the toad up quickly, so he wouldn't get trampled, and the toad burst into a long rapid speech of gratitude. He was a bit given to exaggeration, as all toads are, and Harry blushed a little at all the extravagant praise heaped upon him by the small creature.

Ron eyed the toad wearily. "A toad? Are you sure it's a real one, Harry? It's not going to turn into a dark wizard or anything, is it?"

Harry shook his head rapidly. "Oh, no, he's a real toad. He's looking for a boy called... Oh, dear, I wish he would speak a little more slowly. It's _really_ hard to understand toads when they get all excited."

"Trevor!" exclaimed a round-faced boy nearby, and the toad jumped out of Harry's hands and landed on the boy's head with a satisfied _urp. _Apparently, this was the boy the toad had been looking for, for the boy lifted the toad tenderly down from his head and gazed lovingly at it. "I thought I'd lost you, Trevor!" His voice trembled ever so slightly.

Harry wondered for a moment if he should point out to the boy that the toad had said his name was Rp, rather than "Trevor", but he decided against it. Perhaps "Trevor" was some sort of long nickname for Rp?

The elderly witch from the train station appeared in the doorway now, and a hush fell over the crowd. The lady, who introduced herself as "Professor McGonagall", explained that they were about to get sorted into their houses.

"Please, _not_ Slytherin..." muttered Hermione under her breath. Professor McGonagall appeared to have very sharp hearing, for she glanced quickly at Hermione, and a slight smile hovered around her mouth. McGonagall opened a large oaken door and ushered the waiting children into an enormous stone hall. Hundreds of children were already seated around long wooden tables, and Harry was relieved to see the pale familiar face of Professor Quirrell at the teachers' table in the front of the room. Harry smiled up at him, but the young professor turned shyly away. Harry sighed. How was he _ever _going to get to know the sweet professor and his shard if he was too bashful to make eye contact?

The sorting ceremony was the strangest thing Harry had ever witnessed. The children were called up in front of the room one by one, where they had to sit on a little wooden stool. Then Professor McGonagall put a frayed old hat on each child in turn, and then _the hat called out the child's house!_ It was the first time Harry had ever met a speaking hat, and he was completely enchanted by it. He glanced quickly down at his dark school robes, half expecting his robes to speak as well, but they didn't.

Hermione was promptly sorted into Gryffindor House, and she seemed both surprised and very pleased at that. Draco Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin House, and Harry noticed that his smile was getting better; he was smiling with his whole face now.

"Good luck!" muttered Ron as Harry's turn came, and Harry grinned back at him.

Harry sat down on the little stool, like McGonagall showed him, and peered up at the hat she held over his head. No, there was no one hidden in there. It really had to be the hat itself speaking, then. What a lovely piece of magic! Harry hoped with all his heart that he would learn this sort of magic very soon - imagine Leaf and Twig's faces if he made them little talking winter hats! They would be terribly pleased, as long as the hats had the good sense to stay quiet when the elves went fishing.

"Good luck, Harry!" whispered McGonagall and placed the hat gently on his head.

To Harry's astonishment, a deep voice immediately rang out - _inside his head! _The hat spoke to him soundlessly, just like Shard did when he was in the mood to talk. Harry almost laughed out loud in delight. This would be a great fishing hat! Oh, how he hoped he would learn to make other ones just like it!

"Godric's beard!" came the deep breathy voice in Harry's mind. "What on earth-? Now, _t__his _is going to be the hat-stall of the century! What in Merlin's name _are _you, child?"

"I'm Harry," thought Harry politely. "And my friend who is hiding in the back of my mind is Shard. He is feeling a little shy today."

The hat breathed deeply, as if to calm itself, and dusts of cloud billowed out from the ancient fabric. "How in Merlin's name am I supposed to sort you? _And _your friend, I suppose, although there can't be much of a question about where _he _belongs. It would be absurd not to put you in Ravenclaw, seeing that you know far more magic than all the founders put together, but you also possess courage so deep it borders on sheer stupidity, and a love for all creatures as profound as that of Helga Hufflepuff. And your wounded friend who shares your mind is a Slytherin if I ever saw one... So where am I supposed to put you? You are completely unsortable."

Harry thought for a moment. "Perhaps you could put me a little bit in all the houses, and I could travel from one to the other every few days or so? Sort of like a migrating bird?"

"No," said the hat firmly in Harry's mind. "Absolutely not! That is out of the question. I'm the _Sorting _Hat, not a bloody travel agent. I _sort_. That's my job, and it has been since the days of the founders." The hat fell silent for a while.

Harry glanced up and saw McGonagall gazing intently at him; she seemed terribly nervous for some reason.

"So what do you do when you are done sorting?" thought Harry conversationally to the hat. "Do you ever go fishing at all?"

"Certainly not," thought the hat, a little stiffly. "I am imbued with the collective consciousness of all the four great founders of Hogwarts, and I most assuredly do _not_ go fishing. Between sortings, I rest on a shelf in the headmaster's office and ponder the great mysteries of life."

"I see!" Harry was beginning to understand now. "I know bears who do that all winter as well. Ponder, I mean. They do like to fish in the spring, though. I'll take you fishing some time if you want."

"No, thank you." Harry could tell that the hat was actually thinking about it, though. "Now, back to the sorting, young man. I... I'm afraid I'm completely stumped. Yes, stumped! For the first time in a thousand years, the Sorting Hat is ready to give up. Could you... could you just _pick_ a house, and we'll pretend it was all my idea? It won't do to ruin my reputation, you know. If rumors start flying about the Sorting Hat losing its edge, I might as well retire and become a fishing hat after all. So, which house is it going to be, young Harry?"

Harry didn't have to think about it very long. All the houses sounded delightful, but he could feel Shard stirring eagerly in the back of his mind, whispering things in Snake. There was really only one place where Shard could be happy.

"Slytherin, please!" thought Harry.

The hat sighed. "Oh, damn. Perhaps I should have asked McGonagall to flip a knut instead. _Slytherin?_ Are you sure about this? Your friend in the back of your mind is ambitious and cunning, but _you-?_ All right - have it your own way. SLYTHERIN!"

A stunned silence fell over the hall, and Harry felt hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at him.

"What?" McGonagall looked like she was about to faint. "Are... are you sure about that?"

"Yes, I'm sure," muttered the hat crankily. "What, you don't think I know how to sort people? Think my old age is getting to me, do you? I said Slytherin, and I meant Slytherin."

Harry got up and handed the hat to Professor McGonagall, who was still looking deathly pale. Then he walked in the direction of the Slytherin table. A murmur ran through the Great Hall. Draco smiled slightly, and the pale dark-haired professor from the train station gazed intently at Harry.

"Hey!" whispered the hat.

"What?" Harry turned around.

"If... If you were serious about...about going on an outing together, I'm free after tonight," muttered the hat, and Harry could have sworn there was a slightly embarrassed tilt to the frayed fabric. "If you ever get bored and need company while you fish, I mean."

"All right!" Harry smiled, and McGonagall stared down at the hat in wonder.

The rest of the sorting proceded uneventfully until it was Ron's turn. He was white as snow when his turn came, and he trembled as he sat down on the stool, but there was a determined expression on his face as he peered up at the hat. After what seemed like an eternity, the Sorting Hat finally said, in a resigned sort of voice: "All right, then. Slytherin!"

"What?" McGonagall stared at the hat. "_No!_ This can't be right. He's a Weasley, for Merlin's sake!"

The next instant, two identical red-haired boys leapt up from the Gryffindor table, stormed up to the front of the hall and wrestled the hat to the ground.

"You take that back!" yelled one.

"He's a Gryffindor, and you know it!" roared the other.

"BOYS!" McGonagall tore the hat away from them. "I certainly understand the sentiment, gentlemen, but we have no choice but to abide by the hat's decision for now, until I can discover what lies behind its remakable choices this evening. Back to your seats, _now_!"

Scattered applause greeted the sheep-faced Weasley twins as they returned to the Gryffindor table, and Ron was as red as a poppy as he slid down in an open seat at the Slytherin table next to Harry.

...

The Slytherin dormitory was the loveliest place Harry had ever seen, and he could feel that Shard was excited about it, too. _Home_, whispered Shard inside his mind. _Homehomehome._

The dormitory was a stony cave of sorts located deep inside the very heart of the castle, without any windows to the outside world. Whoever had designed it had been very clever and careful; the students would be perfectly safe from wild animals and predatory beasts while they slept down here. Harry wasn't quite sure this caution was necessary, since he hadn't seen any dangerous animals about, but he appreciated the builder's thoughtfulness all the same. Silver lamps with dark emerald shades cast a soft-green hued light over the room, and the richly carved wooden beds were made up with beautiful silver sheets and plump cushions the color of ferns. The silvery wallpaper had little green snake figures woven into it, and Harry realized that whoever had created this stunning sleeping cave must really have been very fond of serpents.

"I'm so glad you are in Slytherin, too!" whispered Harry to Ron as they were both gazing around the green-and-silver dormitory. "I was worried you wouldn't be, since you didn't seem to like green very much."

"Well..." Ron's voice was shaking a little, and he looked quite pale. "I'm still not terribly fond of green, but I wasn't going to let you rough it among the Slytherins on your own, like a... like a baby bird among the snakes. I explained that to Professor McGonagall when she confronted me after dinner, and she seemed to undestand. In fact, she said that I had acted like a true Gryffindor... Weird, huh?"

Draco Malfoy immediately got down to the business of deciding who was going to sleep in which bed in the Slytherin dormitory.

"I will have the empty bed by the door, of course," Draco informed a tall boy named Blaise. "This is where my father slept when he went to Hogwarts, and his father before him."

Blaise nodded, immediately accepting Draco's claim to the elaborately carved bed by the door. "I'll take the one over here, then; I believe one of my uncles had this once." He dumped his belongings down on another ornate bed. "Crabbe and Goyle can take the ones in the back; I wouldn't think that they are terribly picky."

Draco looked around the dormitory with a frown. "There are more students in Slytherin this year than usual." He glanced quickly at Harry and Ron, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. "That means that _all _the beds in the dormitory will be used, including..." He paused, his eyes on a lovely bed, adorned with serpentine carvings, standing by itself in the corner. "Including Tom Riddle's bed. My father said that no one usually sleeps in _his _bed, out of respect. Can you imagine sleeping where _he_ used to sleep?"

Blaise swallowed. "No, I can't. Well, this year, someone has to, I suppose... But it's not going to be me, I can tell you that."

"Who's Tom Riddle?" Harry walked over to the bed with the serpent carvings and ran his hand over the lovely dark wood.

Draco gave him a funny sort of look. "You don't _know_-? Oh, that's right; they say you've been raised in the wilderness or something, Potter. Tom Riddle was the name _he_ was once known by. The Dark Lord. You-Know-Who."

"Really?" Harry lit up. "I'll take this bed, then." He dragged his trunk over to the bed and begun to unpack. Imagine, sleeping in the bed that used to belong to the mysterious nameless wizard! He was going to have the loveliest dreams here.

"You are going to sleep in You-Know-Who's bed?" Ron's eyes grew wide. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Harry?"

"Yes." Harry stroked his hand over the silky sheet. It was the color of a moon-silvered river, and he could feel how much the hue pleased Shard. What a strange and wonderful coincidence, that the nameless wizard who slept in this bed once used to be called Tom, just like the boy Shard liked to think about! Yes, the more Harry thought about it, the more he was certain that this was the right bed for him and Shard.

...

Later that night, in a different part of the castle, a young professor lay sleepless in his bed. He could feel his master stirring at the back of his head, and waves of confusion and anger pulsed through his mind.

"What ails you tonight, master?" whispered the professor into the darkness, loosening his turban a little. "Are you plagued by dark dreams and forebodings again?"

"Silence, servant." His master's voice sounded annoyed. "And _stop _thinking about that silver dragon, the one that shows up outside the window of the orhpanage to carry the boy off. I was that boy, and there _was _no dragon."

"I... I do not know what you mean, master." Quirrell trembled with fear. "Those are not _my_ thoughts. Why would I think of silver dragons? I... I believed those thoughts came from _you_."

"Of course not, you fool. Why would I think of something so meaningless? Now be silent, so I can get some rest."

"Yes, master."

But for some reason, neither master nor servant slept very well that night at all, unlike the small boy who slept peacefully in Tom Riddle's old bed with a smile on his face.


	5. Of Potions and Dreams

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**Of Potions and Dreams**

**Author's Note: **This will eventually be a steamy Voldemort/Harry romance, but not until Harry is quite a bit older. They should have some interesting encounters even before then, though... And I'm not planning to make this into a five hundred chapter story, covering every single canon event, in case anyone is worried! If you want to read some Voldemort/Harry love right away, please check out my new one-shot, _Solamen Miseris. _

**...**

It took Harry and Ron a while to get used to navigating their way around the castle. There were so many long stone corridors, winding this way and that like meandering rivers, and the stairs seemed to migrate from place to place. Some of the doors didn't open unless you said the right word, which Harry found very odd. Wouldn't it have been easier to put door knobs on?

Ron winced horribly every time he had to say the password to enter the Slytherin common room; for some reason, he seemed to have a violent aversion to saying the word _Pureblood_. Harry, who secretly thought it was rather silly to talk to doors when most of them didn't even talk back, took pity on his friend and showed him how to walk right through the wood of the door itself, without waiting for it to open when he spoke. It took Ron a little while to get the magic right, but he worked very hard at it when no one else was around to watch. Soon he was walking through the Slytherin common room door as easily as a fairy, muttering _Godric_ or _halfblood_ or other random things under his breath. He seemed to take particular pleasure in pretending that the password was _Muggle_ whenever Draco Malfoy was nearby. Draco eyed Harry and Ron warily at times, but he remained very polite around Harry. He took a great deal of interest in Harry and asked him quite a few questions about fairies and how powerful they were. He often asked Harry how he had defeated the Dark Lord as a baby, but Harry really didn't have much to say, since he couldn't remember any of it.

The other Slytherin students seemed very nice and friendly as well, even if a few of them seemed a little nervous around Harry. Harry and Ron also made friends with students from other houses, such as Hermione, and Trevor's friend Neville.

There were all sorts of mysterious creatures roaming around the castle, and Harry loved getting to know them. He was very surprised to see pale mist-like wizards lingering in the hallways and on the stairs, and students walking right through them. "They are ghosts," explained Ron when Harry asked. "They are the souls of wizards who died long ago, but who weren't ready to pass on."

"Pass on to what?" asked Harry, fascinated, but Ron said he wasn't really sure; maybe they should ask Hermione some time, since she seemed to have read a lot of books. Harry quickly made friends with the Bloody Baron, a wispy nobleman who liked to haunt the Slytherin dungeons. He was very good at telling stories, although some of his stories were almost as sad as Shard's.

And then there was Peeves, who liked to pelt things at people. He was worse than a squirrel throwing nuts, and Harry had to speak sternly to him a few times about the dangers of taking people's eyes out. Peeves wasn't really a wizard, and not really a ghost either. Hermione, who seemed to know almost everything, said that Peeves was a poltergeist, but the word didn't mean much to Harry. But finally, after being doused with an unexpected bucket of dishwater, he realized that Peeves was just an elemental spirit of sorts, like the water sprites who liked to push fairies into the pond when they were fishing and laugh about it afterwards. The secret to getting elementals to behave was of course to bring them lots of buttons as presents; for some reason, elementals just adored buttons. Harry and Ron gave him as many buttons as they could spare, and Peeves was so pleased with his growing button collection that he began to act quite decently to both of them. He took his pent-up elemental frustration out on other random passersby instead, such as the cranky old caretaker named Filch and his very sarcastic cat. Harry soon ran out of buttons, but Ron took advantage of his newfound ability to walk through doors to borrow some more buttons from his brother Percy; he said that Percy had too many starched button-down shirts anyway.

...

Potions was the loveliest class Harry could imagine. He could smell plants and dried herbs from the moment he entered the dungeon with Ron, and he felt very excited at the prospect of learning to brew medicines. Leaf had taught him quite a bit, but Harry was sure that the pale dark-haired professor - whose name, Ron told him with a strange shudder, was Snape - must know even more.

Professor Snape must have been terribly eager to teach, for he went straight down to business as soon as he entered the classroom, without even stopping to greet the students first.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," declared the potions master, looking out over the class with his coal-black eyes. Harry couldn't help smiling in delight. Leaf and Twig had warned him that human wizards liked to wave their wands around a lot and say funny words when doing magic, instead of just relaxing and letting the magic flow through them - but apparently, this was not true of all wizards. Harry was relieved to have found a teacher who was as clever as a fairy about these things.

"As such," continued Snape, "I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few..." He broke off and stared at Harry. "Why are you smiling, Mr. Potter?"

"I'm just excited about this class," said Harry eagerly.

"Really?" Snape's black gaze lingered on Harry's face. "Mr. Potter. James Potter's long lost son. Our new... _celebrity_." He spoke in a funny way, as if he had a slight toothache.

Harry had no idea what a celebrity was, but he felt too shy to ask. Snape drew closer. "Perhaps you can tell me, Mr. Potter, what I would get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

For some reason, Hermione began to wave her arm in the air.

Harry thought about it for a moment. "A really bad-tasting stomach medicine? You need to add quite a bit of peony root to it, of course, or it will make you frightfully sleepy. And I would add a lot of honey to that."

Snape sputtered. "You would... _add honey_? To the Draught of Living Death?"

Harry nodded, pleased that he knew the answer. "Yes. It's terribly bitter, especially without lily..."

"What-?" Snape turned a deadly pale now. "Especially without... Oh, you mean the asphodel. Yes, the asphodel is a lily, of course. For a moment, I thought you were talking about..." He was beginning to look a little unwell, and Harry wondered if the master couldn't have used a little wormwood infusion himself at that moment.

"But if you add asphodel to the wormwood, that will help the bitterness a little. The peony will help you stay awake, and with a dash of honey, you should be able to swallow it." Harry beamed up at the potions professor. "It should make even the worst stomach ache go away."

"The Draught of Living Death will make a stom_ach ache_ go away?" The professor seemed strangely confused for a moment; maybe he really did need some medicine. "Tell me then, Mr. Potter," he said with an odd little growl in his voice, "where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

A bezoar? Oh, no! Now Harry realized that the poor master must be terribly ill. He must have eaten something tainted, if he wanted Harry to find him a bezoar. No wonder his voice sounded snarly! Harry leapt up from his desk and approached Professor Snape. If the master was really that sick, there was no time to go looking for goats. Harry hadn't even seen any of them around the castle so far. This called for a more direct approach.

Harry placed his hand soothingly on Snape's stomach and focused all his magic on helping the poor master feel better.

Snape gasped. "What... what are you doing, child? And what is _that_? That curious sensation, flowing through me..." He stared, wide-eyed at Harry.

Harry smiled up at him. "There. Are you feeling better now?"

"Feeling... better?"

"Does your stomach still hurt?"

Snape looked at him blankly for a moment. Then the slightest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his thin mouth. "I didn't want you to go looking for a bezoar because I _needed_ one, Mr. Potter; I merely wanted to see if you knew the answer to my question."

"Oh." Harry flushed and looked down. Well, how could he have known that?

"But I do feel a great deal better, now that you mention it," said the potions master quietly. "What sort of magic was that?"

"Fairy magic," whispered Harry.

"I see." The master looked at him for a long time. "It seems to heal a great deal more than stomach aches, Mr. Potter. Perhaps it is even enough to cure the bitterness of wormwood..." Changing the subject abruptly, he said softly: "How odd... You really do remind me a great deal of your mother, Harry. It must be your eyes."

...

Harry gazed, baffled, at the dozens of broomsticks that were lying in the grass. His class schedule had said that they were going to have flying glass next, but the teacher seemed to have changed her mind and decided to begin with a little house cleaning instead. But why were they going to sweep outside?

"Ever done any flying before, Harry?" whispered Ron.

"Flying? Yes, a bit," said Harry. "But it seems that we are going to clean something first." He brightened. "Or maybe we are supposed to bring the brooms _with_ us when we are flying, and clean the school from the outside? Perhaps Madam Hooch wants to get rid of some of the cobwebs under the eaves?"

Ron stared at him for a moment. Then he giggled. "Oh. I forgot that you wouldn't know about brooms. We fly on the brooms, Harry."

"_On_ the brooms?" Harry glanced down at his school broom. "Why?"

But before Ron could answer, Madam Hooch blew her whistle; she sounded like a hawk who meant business.

"Step up to your brooms, everyone," she said briskly. "Now, hold out your hands and command the brooms to rise. When it's high enough, grasp it with your hand, and mount your broom carefully."

Harry glanced around, baffled. Draco barked something at his broom, and the wooden shaft rose slowly into the air. Draco sat down on his broomstick with a small smile.

Hermione must have noticed Harry's confusion, for she whispered: "The brooms have been enchanted to fly, Harry."

Harry looked doubtfully at his broom. It didn't look terribly comfortable. Why couldn't they enchant a nice cushion or something instead, if they had to _sit_ while flying?

A sudden panicked scream rent the air. Neville had managed to mount his broom, but the broomstick seemed to have mind of its own, and it shot off into the blue autumn air. Neville clung to his broom, wailing desperately, while the broomstick flew in wild loops and circles. Suddenly, the broom tore itself loose, and Neville fell to the ground with a thud.

"My wrist," he moaned. "I think... I think it's broken. _It hurts!"_

"Stand back!" said madam Hooch sharply, but Harry was already by Neville's side. His wrist was indeed broken, and the bones were sticking out at funny angles.

"Oh, Merlin!" muttered Madam Hooch. "He needs to go to the hospital wing right away."

"Wouldn't it be better just to put his bones back together right away?" suggested Harry. "I really don't think we should wait - he seems to be in a lot of pain. _There! _Is that better, Neville?"

Neville blinked down at his wrist. "What... What happened? What did you do?" He moved his hand this way and that, a sudden grin on his face. "Hey! It's all better!"

Madam Hooch poked his wrist gently, an expression of wonder on her face. Then she pulled Neville to his feet. "Well, you are going to the hospital wing anyway, just to make sure that everything is all right." She turned to the class. "Stay here. If I see a single broomstick in the air, the one who rides it will find himself out of Hogwarts before you can say _Quidditch._"

She marched off with Neville, casting a curious glance over her shoulder back at Harry.

"Well, well, well," muttered Draco Malfoy. He was kicking something small and brown that was sitting in the grass. "Looks like Longbottom lost his little pet." A few of the other Slytherins laughed.

"Urpurp!" said Trevor in alarm, trying to duck away from Draco's shoe.

"What are you _doing?" _yelled Ron.

"Just playing a little game, Weasley," said Draco lightly. The next moment, he bent down, picked up the toad, and took off into the air on his broomstick. "Let's leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find, shall we?"

"_Urpurpurp!"_

Harry could tell that Trevor didn't care for the game at all. "Wait, Draco!" he shouted. "I don't think he likes that. You have to bring him down right away."

But Draco didn't seem to hear him; he just steered his broomstick in the direction of the school roofs.

"Oh, no!" Harry whispered. "I'd better get Trevor back, before he gets really dizzy. I don't think he's very good with heights."

"Harry? No!" Hermione's face turned white. "Madam Hooch said "no broomsticks in the air", and you don't even know how to fly!"

"Don't worry," said Harry soothingly. "I can fly just fine, and I'm not going to use a broomstick." He smiled at Hermione, raised his arms and swooped off from the ground, rushing after Draco and Trevor.

"Draco?" called Harry softly. "I think you'd better put Trevor down; he's getting really nervous. I know you can't understand him, since you don't speak Toad, but he doesn't actually like this game."

Draco looked back over his shoulder at Harry. For some reason, he grew terribly pale, and an odd half-choked scream escaped him. He let go of Trevor, who went flying in a great arch towards one of the tower windows in the school building.

Uh oh. Harry rushed after Trevor and fortunately managed to catch the terrified toad just as he was about to crash into the window.

"There, there," said Harry soothingly in Toad, clutching the trembling toad to his chest. "Everything's fine. I'll bring you back down, and I'll make sure to tell Draco that you don't like playing this game."

"Harry P..Potter? What in Merlin's name-?" The window in the tower flew open, and Professor McGonagall peered out. She looked rather unwell, and she was clutching her chest. No wonder she needed a little fresh air! Maybe she had spent too much time inside with her books.

"Hello, professor!" Harry beamed at her. "Just helping Trevor get back down!" He showed her the little toad.

"But..." McGonagall seemed to have a hard time getting the words out. Finally, she said: "But you don't have a broom, Potter."

"Of course not!" Harry smiled. "Neville had an accident in flying class, you see, and Madam Hooch told us "no brooms in the air", while she was taking him to the hospital wing. I'm just getting his toad."

"I see." McGonagall stared at him for a long moment. Then a slight smile passed over her kind, homely face. "Too bad you are not in Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. You would have made a spectacular Seeker!"

...

The other boys were terribly quiet in the dormitory that night, and Harry was beginning to wonder if everyone was coming down with something. Only Ron seemed in a good mood; he was chatting and cracking little jokes, while the other Slytherin boys laughed nervously at his punch lines, even if they weren't terribly funny.

"Harry?" Draco looked a little unwell too. "You know I apologized to Longbottom, right? I told him it was only meant as a joke..."

Harry smiled reassuringly at him. "Of course it was only a game, Draco. But I don't think you should play that game again, since Trevor said he didn't care for it."

Draco fell silent for a moment. Then he said: "The... the toad said that?"

Harry nodded.

Draco seemed to ponder something for a long time. Then he said: "I've got an idea, Potter. Maybe... Maybe you and Weasley would like to come and visit me over the Christmas holidays? My parents said I could bring friends home if I want. We could all... you know... get to know each other a little better, be friends and all of that."

Harry beamed at him. "Thank you, Draco! That's a wonderful idea." He was still smiling when he fell asleep that night. How lovely it was to be at school, surrounded by so many friendly people!

...

That night, Harry had the strangest dream. In his dream, he saw the pale young Professor Quirrell, lying in his bed and talking in a trembling voice to his shard. And Quirrell's shard was speaking as well, and his voice was full of want and longing. And then a new image came into Harry's mind, and he saw a brilliant red stone, red as a robin's breast and luminous as the summer sun. And all at once, Harry realized that the broken piece of soul that Quirrell carried within him longed for that stone: He wanted the beautiful stone so badly that his heart ached for it, and his thoughts were heavy with yearning.

When Harry woke up, the memory of his dream was still so vivid that he could almost see the glittering stone before him still. He lay quite still in his bed for a long time, surrounded by his still sleeping friends, and thought about the stone. Somehow, he _had_ to find that marvelous red stone and give it to Professor Quirrell's shard...


	6. The Forbidden Forest

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**~Chapter 6~**

**Warnings: **This is a Harry-Voldemort romance. With fairies. You have been warned.

**Author's Note: **I'm back from my summer travels, and I'm touched and overwhelmed by all the lovely reviews waiting in my inbox. You guys are the best! Thank you so much for following this story, and for all your words of encouragement. As many of you pointed out, I had mistakenly put Luna in Harry's year at Hogwarts. I've gone back and removed Luna for now. She will be back later!

...

"So..." Professor Dumbledore peered at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "You were raised by fairies, I understand."

Harry smiled up at the old man. He had taken an immediate liking to the Hogwarts headmaster with the lovely white hair and the twinkling blue eyes. And his wondrous beard! Not even gnomes had beards like that! The headmaster's beard was as long as his name, and that was saying something.

"Yes, I was raised by my friend Leaf." Harry reached out and petted Dumbledore's friend, a scarlet bird with a strange accent. "Excuse me, but I think your friend wants... fire-bread? I'm afraid I can't quite make out everything he is saying; he seems to speak a very old-fashioned dialect of Bird."

Dumbledore blinked at him. "You understand what Fawkes is saying? That's quite astonishing. I've never come across anyone who speaks Phoenix before... Yes, it is time for his mid-morning toast, isn't it? Here you go, Fawkes." He handed the bird a piece of toast from a plate on his desk. The bird thanked him politely, but suggested gently that the respected and venerable elder might consider guarding the bread's outlying areas against the ferocity of the flames in the future, if convenient.

"The toast is a little too burnt around the edges," translated Harry, and Dumbledore immediately tore off a less singed piece and offered it to his friend.

"Thank you, Harry. We may need you to translate for us again, Fawkes and I. I have been suffering from the unfortunate delusion that he preferred his toast well done, and I am most grateful to you for setting me straight." Dumbledore beamed at him. "Now, Harry, I trust you are settling in well here at Hogwarts? It must be quite different from what you are used to."

"A bit, yes," admitted Harry. "But it's all very pleasant, and the other Slytherin students are very friendly to Ron and me."

"Ah, yes. I dare say they are, all things considered." Dumbledore smiled a little behind his beard. "Speaking of your friend Mr. Weasley, I happened to run into him the other night. It seems that he is much given to wandering around this school at night, and that he takes particular pleasure in walking through locked doors. A skill he has learned from you, perhaps?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. Ron was ever so quick at learning how to do that. It's a very useful thing to know, of course."

"I'm sure it is." The headmaster nodded thoughtfully. "The thing is, Harry, it is sometimes safer not to walk through every locked door in sight. You never know what you will find on the other side. So I would strongly advise you and Mr. Weasley not to wander around the school at night. There may be parts of this castle that are not entirely safe for first year students, no matter how bright and clever they may be."

"Oh." Harry pondered this for a moment. "We will be very careful, then."

"Good." Dumbledore smiled at him. After a slight pause, he added: "I happened to come across your friend Mr. Weasley in one of the empty classrooms the other night, gazing into a very old mirror that was kept there."

"Oh, yes, he told me about that."

"Did he now?" Dumbledore studied Harry over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "What did he tell you about that mirror?"

Harry shrugged. "I think he must have been sleepwalking a bit. He said that he saw himself in the mirror, only he was a fairy. I suppose he must have been dreaming, because he doesn't usually look much like a fairy at all."

Dumbledore smiled ever so slightly. "No, I don't suppose he does. What about you, Harry? Did you look into that mirror at all?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Ron came and found me. He wanted me to see the mirror for myself."

"Did he?" Dumbledore leaned forward across his desk. "And you stood in front of the mirror as well? Tell me, Harry: What did you see when you looked into the mirror?"

Harry stared at the headmaster. Oh, dear. Dumbledore was very, very old, wasn't he? Perhaps he was becoming a little confused about things, the way fairies sometimes did when they turned three hundred or so?

Harry patted the headmaster's old wrinkled hand. "When I looked into the mirror, I saw me," he said gently. "That's how mirrors work, you see."

"You saw yourself?" Dumbledore gazed at him. "Only yourself, Harry?"

"Yes," said Harry patiently. "That's because I was the only one standing in front of the mirror, you see. If someone else had been standing next to me, I would have seen them too. That's how mirrors are. They work just like clear ponds, only better." He felt terribly bad for the old man who had forgotten something that simple and ordinary.

"I see." Dumbledore sat quite still for a moment and stroked his long snowy beard. Then he said: "You are quite a remarkable young wizard, Harry. In more ways than one..."

...

Harry enjoyed his classes a great deal, although there were a few unfortunate misunderstandings at times. Harry could never quite get the hang of the very odd charms that professor Flitwick was trying to teach them. He tried to get into the spirit of things and say funny words to feathers to make them fly, like Hermione did, but it seemed like an unnecessarily complicated way of doing things.

Hermione would sometimes catch him doing things a bit differently and speak a little sternly to him about it after class.

"Harry! Your feather was flying beautifully in Charms class again," she would say. "Except that I happened to hear the charm you used, and you said _Wind_ _Guards_ _the Roses_ instead of _Wingardium Leviosa_."

Harry flushed a little. He didn't think anyone would have noticed. "I'm afraid I forgot the word we were supposed to use," he muttered. "It's so hard to remember all those long words."

Hermione stared at him. "But how did you make your feather fly if you didn't remember the right spell?"

Harry looked down. How terribly embarassing, to be caught cheating like this! Perhaps he should have tried a little harder to remember the right words. "Well, I just pushed the feather around with my magic. It's so much easier than remembering the right word for every little thing..."

"You just pushed the feather around with your magic?" repeated Hermione slowly. "But that's..." She paused, eyes on Harry's wand. "Harry? Where did you get that wand? It looks a little... different."

Harry showed her his wand. "I got it from a holly tree back home in the forest where I lived. The holly was actually very pleased that one of her twigs was going to go to school and learn magic. She was telling all her neighbors about it."

Hermione turned the wand over and over in her hand. "But Harry, this is a live piece of holly. Wands are usually made from dead wood, with a magical core inserted into them. What sort of core does your wand have?"

"Er..." Harry thought for a moment. "Tree sap?" He felt very confused. What else could you possible expect to find at the core of a piece of wood?

"_Tree_ _sap_?" Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. Then she said: "Listen, Harry, I'm not sure if yours is a proper magical wand. Would you mind if I try it for a moment?"

"Of course!" Harry smiled at her.

"Let's see, then..." Hermione looked doubtfully at the wand. Then she gave it a little flick and said: "_Avis_!"

The next moment, the corridor filled with birds of every imaginable color and size, hundreds of them, thousands of them... Some were dark crimson, others gold or silver, emerald green, cobalt blue, or deep purple. They sparkled and glittered in the flickering light from the torches that lined the ancient corridor, and the sweetest birdsong Harry had ever heard filled the air.

Hermione stared at the birds, her eyes wide. "What... What species of birds are _those_? I have never seen anything like them before in my life..."

"I don't think they are birds of any particular species," said Harry and lifted a large turqouise and silver one off his head. "They seem to be quite new. You were the one who made them up, so I don't think they have any names yet. They are very lovely, though."

Hermione stared down at Harry's wand for a long moment. Then she smiled and said: "You know what? I think your wand is just perfect, even if it is a little different from everyone else's. Perhaps wands that are given to you by the trees themselves are the most magical ones after all. _Finite_ _Incantatem_."

...

Harry liked all his new teachers a great deal. Professor McGonagall was very clever at speaking Cat, and she and Harry sometimes had animated Cat conversations in the hallways, which always made Draco Malfoy shudder a little if he happened to walk by. But Harry's favorite adult friend of all, after the desperately shy Professor Quirrell, was Hagrid. Hagrid lived in a little hut on the school grounds with his friend Fang, and he knew more about animals than anyone Harry had ever met. Hagrid couldn't talk to the animals in their own languages very well, but he managed to make himself widely understood with friendly grunts and a lot of patience.

Harry loved roaming through the forest behind Hagrid's hut and talking to all the friendly creatures he met there. In the beginning, Hagrid was a little hesitant about Harry walking around in the forest at night.

"Yeh shouldn't be in the forest alone at night, Harry," he exclaimed one night when he came upon Harry and the Sorting Hat fishing in a small forest stream in the moonlight.

"Mr. Potter is not alone!" said the Sorting Hat a little huffily. "Surely, you can see that he is accompanied by qualified school staff?"

Hagrid looked doubtfully at their little campfire, where a couple of trouts were already roasting over the flames. The Sorting Hat had brought along an old sword that worked perfectly as a roasting spit.

"Well..." Hagrid was still a little hesitant, but he ate one of the trouts Harry offered him with a good appetite. "I think it's still against the school rules fer students to be in the forest at night, Harry."

But when Harry explained to him what Leaf had said about the difference between Rules and Laws, Hagrid had to admit that this made a lot of sense. He immediately agreed that the strange idea that students shouldn't walk in the lovely dark forest at night was probably more of a small Rule than an actual important Law.

But one night, Harry came upon something terribly strange in the Forbidden Forest.

He had had a very pleasant night talking to an old oak tree who had seen a lot and had some great stories to tell. Later, there had been a slight misunderstanding with an old friend of Hagrid's, Aragog, who for some reason had mistaken Harry for food, but they were all able to laugh about it afterwards. Aragog's laugh was a little shaky, since Harry had had to use some very strong magic to get his point across, but Hagrid roared with laughter when he heard about the silly mistake Aragog had made.

But as Harry was walking back home through the darkened forest, he came upon a strange scene in a moonlit clearing: A lovely white unicorn was lying on the ground, and a dark shape was crouched over it at an odd angle.

Harry immediately recognized professor Quirrell. He must be fond of nightly walks, just like Harry! Harry ran up to the dark-clad man.

"Hello, Professor!"

Professor Quirrell spun around, his face a little odd and white in the moonlight. He had loosened his turban, and Harry caught a glimpse of another face at the back of the young professor's head. His shard! His shard had a face of his own? Unfortunately, Harry only saw that other face for a fleeting moment before Professor Quirrell gave a strangled scream and ran off into the forest.

Harry sighed. If only he could have talked the professor into staying! They could have walked home together in the moonlight and perhaps become a little more friendly. Harry longed to take a closer look at that pale, haunting face he had glimpsed so briefly at the back of Quirrell's head. How wonderful, that Professor Quirrell's shard had his _own_ _face_! Harry couldn't help wondering what his own Shard's face would look like. Perhaps he would look a little like the other shard? If only Shard could have a body of his own one day! Harry loved sharing his mind with him, of course, but he knew that Shard would probably enjoy himself more if he could walk around on his own sometimes. Perhaps he would even like to go exploring in the forest with Harry.

Harry glanced down at the unicorn. Uh oh. He didn't look good at all. He must have met with a horrible accident of some kind, for the poor creature was lying terribly still in a glittering pool of his own silver blood. Harry hurriedly scooped up the silvery liquid and used his magic to pour it back inside the unicorn. There! That was better! He added a little more magic for good measure, but the unicorn still didn't stir.

Harry's eyes welled with tears as he gazed down at the luminous snow-white creature. Dead. Yes, he was dead, beyond the reach of all magic. What sort of accident had the poor unicorn met with? There was something so terribly sad and strange about this. He looked as if he had been attacked by some savage beast. And why had Professor Quirrell crouched over him in that strange way? Something about the memory of his dark shape made Harry feel rather ill at ease, although he couldn't really explain to himself why that was. And why had there been a slight gleam of silver on the thin lips that Harry had seen at the back of Quirrell's head?

...

Later that night, Harry found his way to the teachers' quarters at Hogwarts. He felt a little guilty about this, since Professor Dumbledore had told him very specifically to be careful about walking through locked doors. But, Harry told himself, surely even Professor Dumbledore would make an exception if you just wanted to visit a friend.

After some searching, Harry found Quirrell's room. The young professor was sleeping fitfully on his narrow bed, tossing and turning and moaning slightly in his sleep. There was such a nervous expression on his face that Harry couldn't help giving him a little spark of magic to make him sleep better.

There! A slight smile hovered around Quirrell's mouth now, and his breathing became calm and even. After a moment's hesitation, Harry unwrapped the purple turban very, very carefully, making sure he didn't accidentally touch Quirrell's head and wake him up. Just a quick peek...

Professor Quirrell's Shard was sleeping as well. Harry gazed at the pale face for a long moment. It looked strangely unfinished for a face - the nose in particular could have used a little more work - but Harry thought it looked lovely nonetheless. It had a sort of stern, cold beauty to it, like stone or ice. Harry felt a sudden urge to kiss the smooth white forehead, very softly, so as not to wake the sleeping stranger. But that would probably be a little rude when they hadn't even been introduced?

The stranger stirred slightly, as if he could feel himself being watched, and Harry whispered: "Just go back to sleep. I will help you find that red stone very, very soon."

...

The autumn days began to grow chillier, and the trees began to lose their leaves. With the arrival of autumn came all sorts of lovely things like hot apple cider, warm fires, and a splendid autumn festival called Halloween.

For some reason, hollowed out vegetables filled with flickering candles began to hover over the tables in the great hall, and they looked very cheerful. Harry made a mental note to try something like this at home in the forest next time they had a birthday celebration. They didn't usually have any of these large pumpkins there, of course, but you could probably create much the same effect with hollowed out apples or - if you carved very, very carefully and used very small candles - plums. Or maybe potatoes? Yes, they would probably be easier to carve than juicy plums.

Harry and Ron were sitting at the Slytherin table, enjoying the abundant Halloween feast with their friends, when the door to the Great Hall was suddenly flung open with a thud. Professor Quirrell staggered in, his face even paler than usual.

"Troll... in the Dungeon..." he gasped and sank to the floor.

A troll? Harry lit up. He hadn't seen trolls in ages. No wonder the young professor had been in a rush to share such exciting news! "Come on, Ron!" He leapt up from the table. "Let's go meet him!"

"Me-Meet who?" For some reason, Ron looked a little pale.

"The troll, of course! Come on, don't be shy!" Harry dashed out of the Hall, followed by Ron with his wand clutched tightly in his hand.


	7. Through the Trapdoor

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**~Chapter 6~**

**Through the Trapdoor**

**Warning: **This is a Harry-Voldemort romance. If that is not to your liking, please turn back now.

**Author's Note: **I am touched and overwhelmed by all the reviews and favorites. Thank you so much!

**Wizarding Nerd Note: **In this chapter, nettle wine is a green-tinged golden liquid, since that is the color of actual nettle wine. Yes, I've had nettle wine, and yes, it tastes just as bad as it sounds! I know that nettle wine is _blue _on the DVD with extra scenes from the film _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, _but I think this must be some sort of creative license on the part of the director (sort of like casting a Harry with blue eyes instead of green).The book does not describe the color of the wine, and since nettles do not usually come in blue, I am choosing to stick with golden-green here.

...

The troll was every bit as delightful as Harry had hoped. He was a little smelly of course - eating a lot of mud and rocks never gave anyone a very pleasant body odor - but very cheerful and friendly.

Harry and Ron had followed the troll scent into the girls' bathroom, and there he was, a real mountain troll, smashing the sinks along the walls to small pieces with his large wooden club. *Hello there!* he grunted agreeably in Troll.

"He's tearing the place apart!" gasped Ron, gazing up at the enormous grey creature with a distinctly worried look on his face.

Harry smiled. "Oh, he's probably just breaking the sinks into smaller pieces so they'll be easier to digest. Trolls usually eat plain rocks and dirt, but they adore porcelain if they can find it. Apparently, it's got a very delicate flavor compared to the granite trolls usually eat, or so I've been told. Here, let's help him!"

Harry sent a wave of magic towards the row of sinks, and a shower of shattered porcelain pieces and sprays of water rained down over the surprised troll.

The troll blinked his small black eyes slowly and reached out for a piece of sink. He bit into it thoughtfully, a grin spreading across his rough grey face.

*Good sink,* he muttered, his mouth full of broken porcelain. *Thank you. Want a piece?*

"He's growling at us!" Ron took a few rapid steps backwards. "Is he going to attack us, Harry?"

Harry had to laugh. Yes, the troll's speech probably _did _sound a bit like growling to someone who spoke no Troll. "It's all right, Ron," he assured his friend. "He was just offering to share the sinks with us." Harry beamed up at the large creature. *No, thank you. I'm sure the flavors are lovely, but humans don't tolerate sinks very well. They are too rough on our stomachs. What's your name?*

*Thrivaldi,* said the troll politely, spitting out a piece of splintered faucet. *Pleased to make your acquaintance.*

*I'm Harry, and this is my friend Ron,* said Harry and handed Thrivaldi a fallen tile, which the troll bit into with gusto. *What brings you to Hogwarts today?*

Thrivaldi chomped pensively on the tile. *An invitation. A human with a wrapped head invited me. Said there would be sinks. Lovely, smooth porcelain to eat.*

*Quirrell invited you?* Harry lit up. *How very thoughtful of him!* He had been right about Quirrell after all, then - the shy professor was really very friendly and thoughtful, once you got to know him a little bit, like the troll had.

Thrivaldi put the last piece of sink down with a satisfied burp. *All full.* He got slowly to his feet and staggered out of the bathroom. *Uh-oh. Gotta go back to the forest now. Bye.*

*Come back soon!* called Harry after him.

"Where... where is he going? He's not going to... eat any students, is he?" whispered Ron. For some reason, he looked rather pale. Maybe watching a troll eat had made him a little queasy? Trolls did slobber rather a lot when they ate, and it was not a pretty sight when you weren't used to it. Actually, it wasn't too pleasant to watch even if you _were _used to it.

But eat... _students?_ Harry giggled. Ron really didn't know a thing about trolls, did he? "No, he is just hurrying back to the forest, Ron. You see, when trolls have eaten a large meal, they have to...er... go. Very badly. Right away. So Thrivaldi is running off to the forest, since trolls can't use human bathrooms. He's in a bit of a hurry, if you catch my drift."

Harry glanced around the girls' bathroom. Poor Thrivaldi had left rather a mess, as trolls usually do. Better clean this up, in case any students needed to use this bathroom! Harry used his best Cleaning and Ordering magic, and soon the debris had vanished, and a new row of porcelain sink gleamed along the wall.

The next moment, they heard running footsteps, and McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell came bursting into the bathroom.

"Boys! Are you all right?" exclaimed McGonagall. "I thought I heard the troll!"

Harry nodded. "Oh, he was here all right, but he had to go."

"The t-t-troll was h-here?" Quirrell stared at Harry. "You m-met him?"

"I'm so sorry you missed it," said Harry sadly. He really felt very bad about poor Quirrell getting here after the troll had left, since _he _had invited the troll. "But that's how trolls are, unfortunately: When they've got to go, they've _got_ to go. He ran off into the forest."

Quirrell and McGonagall just stared at Harry in blank incomprehension. Perhaps they didn't know about troll digestion?

"I wonder how the troll got into the school in the first place," muttered Snape, sniffing the air suspiciously.

"Oh, he said Professor Quirrell invited him," said Harry cheerfully. "Which was ever so nice of him, don't you think? I mean, trolls don't get to come inside and eat porcelain sinks very often, so it was a lovely treat for Thrivaldi."

For some reason, both McGonagall and Snape wheeled around and stared at Professor Quirrell, who was looking rather pale now.

"I think poor little H-H-Harry must have hit his h-head," stammered Quirrell. "Of _course _I d-d-didn't invite the t-troll in! Why would I d-do such a thing?"

Harry blinked up at Quirrell in surprise. "But the troll _said..._" He caught sight of Quirrell's alarmed expression, and suddenly he understood: There was probably some silly Rule in school about not inviting trolls inside to eat sinks. Oh no! Perhaps Quirrell's kindness to the troll was going to get him in trouble?

Harry flushed and added quickly: "I must have misunderstood the troll, I think. That was probably not what he said at all. Trolls do tend to mutter; it's really hard to make out what they are saying sometimes. Coming to think of it, I think he said something about being lost... Perhaps he just happened to wander into the castle on his own accord."

"Right. Of course, Harry." McGonagall nodded in agreement. "But, sweet Merlin, we really _must _strengthen the wards around the school; it really won't do to have mountain trolls roaming the halls of Hogwarts. What if it had attacked a _student_?" Her voice was trembling a little.

"It was my impression that there were wards already in place," muttered Snape, his inscrutable black gaze lingering on Quirrell's pale face. "_Very_ strong wards. I wonder how the troll got through those..."

...

"Harry! Harry, wake up!"

Harry opened his eyes and peered into the darkness. He could barely make out Ron's face in the dim candlelight of the Slytherin dormitory. "What's up, Ron?"

"You've _got _to see this!" Ron's voice was an excited whisper. "I went exploring, and I went down this hallway where I've never been and walked through a locked door and... Harry! There was _a dog with three heads!"_

_"_A dog with three heads?" Harry sat up in bed now, wide awake. "How wonderful! I've never seen a three-headed dog before. Let's go meet him!"

"He is enormous!" whispered Ron excitedly as they made their way out of the dormitory. "Good thing he was sleeping, or I would have been a little freaked out. But you'll be able to speak to him in Dog or Triple Dog or something if he wakes up, won't you?"

Harry nodded and followed Ron eagerly along the darkened corridors. "Along here," whispered Ron, "and then through this locked door here..." The two boys slipped quietly through the locked door. Lovely soft string music greeted them as soon as they stepped into the torchlit chamber. Music? In the middle of the night? How very odd! Harry suddenly remembered that Dumbledore had told him that it was _not _a good idea to walk through locked doors, and for a moment, he wondered if he should tell Ron that they had better go back to bed. But the next instant, he had forgotten all about Dumbledore and his Rules, for he had caught sight of the most magnificent creature he had ever laid eyes on.

"Oh!" whispered Harry. He gazed in awe at the sleeping dog in front of them. The dog was almost as big as a young troll, and he really truly did have three heads! Harry couldn't help himself. He reached out and petted the beautiful dog gently on each of his three massive heads.

The dog opened his six large dark eyes then, and the effect was so funny that Harry almost laughed out loud. He had never felt so thoroughly _watched _in his whole life!

A ferocious snarl escaped each of the three large mouths, and Ron jumped a little. "Maybe we should...er... leave-?" he said weakly. "I don't speak Dog, of course, but I don't think that sounded very friendly."

*I'm going to eat you up!* growled the dog. His growl sounded terribly strange and echo-like, since it was made up of three similar deep voices snarling the same words from three large mouths.

Harry shook his head and smiled. *Oh, no, we are not food,* he explained politely in Dog.

The six eyes blinked at him in surprise. *You are a dog?* The three-headed creature studied Harry curiously and sniffed at him with his three huge snouts. *You are the strangest looking dog I've ever seen. You don't look right at all.*

Harry couldn't help laughing. *I'm not a dog,* he explained. *My friend and I are humans. Surely, you can see that?*

The three-headed dog leaned over Harry and stared at him from all sides at once. After a long pause, he muttered: *No. You smell human, that's true, and you look like a scrawny human, but you can't fool me. You speak like a puppy, so you must _be _a puppy.* He hesitated for a moment, then licked Harry hesitantly on the head. It was a rather slobbery lick, but Harry understood that it was meant as a caress, so he stood still and let each of the three heads lick him in turn. It was really very wet.

Ron backed up slowly towards the door, apparently worried that he was going to get licked next.

*So,* said Harry conversationally, wiping dog drool discreetly off his cheeks, *is this where you live?*

*No,* sighed the three heads simultaneously, making Harry's hair flutter a little in the breeze. *My friend Hagrid brought me here. I have to lie here and watch that trap door, and if any human wizards come by, I have to chase them away and bite them.* He glanced down at a trap door that was barely visible among the wooden planks of the floor.

*Why?* Harry peered curiously at the trapdoor.

*No idea,* breathed the dog. *Hagrid said it was a game of sorts. So far, it hasn't been a lot of fun.*

*A game?* Harry lit up. *I love games! What's under the trapdoor, then?*

The dog leaned its three heads to the side, pondering. *More games, I suppose?*

*Really?* Harry poked at the trapdoor. *Mind if we have a look?*

*Suit yourself, puppy.* The three-headed dog gave him another series of licks. *I was told not to let any wizards through here, but Hagrid didn't say anything about puppies, so I suppose it will be all right if you go through. Your friend, is he a puppy, too?* He glanced doubtfully at Ron.

*Of course!* Harry grabbed Ron by the hand. *Lovely to meet you... er... What's your name?*

*Rgggrrrr,* muttered the dog. *But Hagrid likes to call me "Fluffy" for some reason.* He rolled all of his six eyes at that.

Harry smiled at the dog and pulled the trapdoor open. *See you later, Rgggrrrr!*

"What's in there?" Ron peered curiously into the darkness.

"A game, I think. Let's check it out!" Harry grabbed Ron's hand, and they jumped through the trapdoor together.

To Harry's surprise, it was a very long way down, but fortunately, the floor they landed on was covered by soft leaves. A plant wrapped itself lovingly around them as soon as they reached the floor.

"What in Merlin's name is this?" Ron sounded a little scared. "This plant is... weird. Hey! What is it doing? It's squeezing me!"

Ron had a point. The plant they had landed on was terribly snuggly. Harry just went along with it at first, but when the plant began to wrap itself a little too firmly around his neck, he had to speak rather sharply to it. The plant muttered something about just _trying _to be friendly, and began to slink back with an air of embarrassment.

Released from the plant's insistent hugs, Harry and Ron slid further down. Before they knew what was happening, they found themselves in a brightly lit underground stone chamber. Harry looked around in wonder. What a marvelous room! Yes, this was definitely a delightful game of sorts, for the air was humming with the beating of hundreds of rapid wings. It sounded like a flock of birds in autumn, except there were no birds there at all - only keys!

_Flying _keys? Harry gazed up at them in wonder. What were they supposed to do now?

The next instant, his eyes fell on a door on the opposite side of the room, and he realized that one of the swarming keys probably fit that large keyhole in the oaken door. Maybe they were supposed to guess which key to use? There were broomsticks, too, in case you wanted to fly for a bit. Sorting keys didn't strike Harry as a terribly interesting game, so he motioned to Ron to follow him through the door. They slipped easily through the wood of the door, leaving the hundreds of little keys flapping wildly behind them.

The next room had a much better game in it. The entire floor was covered with black and white squares, and rows of black and white columns and statues of people and horses were lined up along the edges.

"It's a chess set!" Ron gazed around the room, eyes wide. "I wonder if you can play it like a regular game?" He gasped as one of the white pieces on the opposite side of the room suddenly slid forward on the floor. "Yes, it _is _a chess game, Harry! Apparently, we are playing Black! Pawn to d5!"

Harry watched in silence as the pieces moved across the floor. Ron called out commands eagerly, and the black pieces did exactly as he told them. But the white pieces weren't playing very nicely at all. Without warning, a tall white piece wearing a crown smashed one of the pretty black horses to pieces.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed in alarm. "That's not a nice way to play!" He turned to the white piece. "What did you do that for?"

The white piece regarded him haughtily. "I am the White Queen," she said icily, "and this is the way chess is played. I am merely following the Rules."

Harry frowned. "Well, if the Rules allow you to do that, I don't think they are very good Rules. What are you trying to accomplish?"

The White Queen drew herself up to her full height. "My goal," she said in a frosty voice, "is the Death of the Black King!" She nodded in the direction of a tall black piece.

Harry stared at the white pieces. "What? Are you all trying to kill the Black King?"

"No, sir!" piped a short white piece. "Well, I mean, we _could, _but it's not very likely. It's usually the Queen who kills him. I'm usually just trying to get to the other side of the board without being knocked down."

"Get to the other side of the board?" Harry regarded the piece thoughtfully. "Now, that's more like it! Why don't you all just try to work together, and you can all get to the opposite side of the board? It's not that hard if you all help each other a bit."

"_Help _each other?" The White Queen stared at him. "But that's absurd! If we help each other, who will Win the Game?"

"Everybody," said Harry firmly.

The White Queen shook her head. "That doesn't sound like much fun. Someone has to Win. Which means that someone else has to Lose."

Harry thought for a moment. "Perhaps you can add something to make the game more fun without killing each other? How about some jumps, or a few dance steps?" He stretched his arms out and swirled around in an empty square. "Try this - it's kind of fun, but you _will _get dizzy!"

The pieces were a little hesitant at first, but then some of the smaller pieces who had been standing around looking bored began to twirl. Before long, the entire room was filled with spinning, laughing pieces.

"Oh, I'm getting all giddy!" giggled the White Queen. "I think I'm going to faint!"

"Don't worry, my dear!" The Black King dashed gallantly to her side. "I will catch you!"

Ron looked at all the twirling, laughing chess pieces and shook his head. "This is the strangest game of chess I've ever seen, Harry!" He ducked quickly as a small black piece attempted to jump over him, laughing madly.

Ron sighed. "Come on, Harry. I'm getting dizzy just watching them. Let's see what's in the next room!"

They wove their way carefully through the dancing pieces and pushed open the door to the next room. To Harry's surprise, there was a troll, even larger than Thrivaldi, napping on the floor.

Ron covered his nose with his hand. "Another troll? This one smells even worse than the other one."

Harry looked thoughtfully at the sleeping troll. "I wish he had been awake so we could have played with him. But he looks exhausted. Better let him sleep!"

The two boys continued on through the next door. How many of these rooms _were _there down here? Harry couldn't wait to find out what other delights were waiting for them. More games, perhaps?

To Harry's astonishment, tall flames shot up from the doorway behind them as soon as they had entered the new chamber. Ron let out a small shriek and stepped quickly away from the flickering tongues before they could singe his robe. Harry noticed that the doorway on the other side of the room also appeared to be on fire. He frowned. One of the very first things that Twig had taught him, when he was very, very young, is that you needed to be careful around fire. And of course you should never, _ever_ leave fire unattended!

Harry quickly stifled the flames with his magic, and both fires sputtered and died. There! With that out of the way, Harry was free to study this new chamber more closely.

There was no game in this room, just a series of bottles standing on a low table.

"Oh, look!" Harry grabbed Ron by the arm. "Drinks! Whoever made up this wonderful game corridor also left us something to drink. They probably knew that people would get thirsty after dancing with the chess pieces and playing with the troll. Let's see what's in here..." He regarded the colored bottles with interest.

Ron picked up a scroll that was lying on the table and glanced at it with a frown. "Listen, Harry - I don't think all of these are safe to drink..."

Harry wrinkled his nose as he smelt the contents of the different bottles. "You are right about that, Ron! Oleander juice? That's terribly dangerous! A few sips are enough to kill you! But this one has nettle wine in it - that's safe for humans, at least, although it will make you a little dizzy if you drink too much."

"Oh, Merlin!" groaned Ron. "There is some sort of riddle on this parchment. I'm horrible at these puzzles. Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind... There are two bottles of nettle wine, but three bottles contain poison. The poison is always to the left of the nettle wine, while the second from the left and the second one from the right are the same... Oh, Godric help us!"

Harry frowned, pondering the instructions Ron had just read. "Well, that wasn't very clear, was it? Why can't they just tell us what's what? I really think the bottles need to be labeled better, or someone could easily drink the wrong one.

"Like the poison..." whispered Ron, pale under his freckles now.

"Well, now, we can't have that!" Harry focused all his magic on the small bottles, and soon the names he was thinking of appeared on neat little labels on each bottle. "There! Now everyone who comes here will know which is which. Those three are oleander juice, and I marked those as POISON. Those two are nettle wine, and that one is elderberry juice with some strange herbs in it, and the last one is redcurrant juice with some other interesting herbs. Those four are all safe to drink."

Ron's eyes widened. "You figured out that logic riddle already? That's really impressive, Harry!"

Harry smiled. "Oh, no! That riddle just made my head spin. I just smelled the contents of each bottle. Here - do you want elderberry or redcurrant?"

"Elderberry, please!" Ron reached for the small bottle, uncorked it, and emptied it in a few gulps. "That was good! I'm still thirsty, though. You said the nettle wine is also safe to drink, right?"

"Right." Harry sipped the redcurrant juice. It tasted good, but he was a little puzzled by the herbs in it. He recognized them as rare plants that would cause your body temperature to drop. Perhaps someone had put it here for safety, knowing that the doorways sometimes erupted in flames down here?

"This nettle wine is good," muttered Ron, emptying a slim bottle filled with a golden-green liquid. "You should try it."

"No, thank you." Harry put his redcurrant juice down. "I don't want to drink nettle wine because..."

"You won't mind if I have the last bottle, then?" Ron beamed and downed the other bottle as well. "I'm terribly thirsty."

Uh-oh.

Harry sighed. He had been about to tell Ron that nettle wine is very strong and makes you a little woozy. But apparently, it was too late. Oh, well.

Ron sank down on the floor, a satisfied smile on his face. "That was good, although the aftertaste is a little weird... I'm starting to feel a little sleepy, though. Do you mind if I just lie down here and take a nap for a few minutes?" He curled up on the stone floor, and the next moment, he was sound asleep.

Harry shook his head a little. Poor Ron! He wasn't going to feel so good when he woke up! Harry had seen elves go overboard with nettle wine before, and they always ended up regretting it a few hours later.

Harry decided to let Ron sleep for a while, and peered into the next chamber. To his astonishment, he saw that someone was already there. A familiar figure was standing in the middle of the chamber, gazing steadily into a tall mirror.

It was Quirrell!

Harry lit up. "Hello, Professor! What are _you_ doing here?"


	8. The Man With Two Faces

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**...**

**~The Man With Two Faces~**

**...**

**Warning: **This is still a Harry-Voldemort romance! I should warn you that parts of this particular chapter are a little sad. Please bear with me - things will go better for Harry and the Dark Lord after this, I promise! I had to do this for the sake of the plot in coming chapters.

**Author's Note: **As you may have noticed, the timeline is a little different from that of the canon; this chapter is taking place a little after Halloween during Harry's first year at Hogwarts.

...

Professor Quirrell wheeled around. When his glance fell on Harry, he froze.

"Harry Potter?" he whispered. "How did _you _get down here?" For some reason, there was no hint of a stutter in his voice any more. Perhaps he was finally getting over his nervousness?

Harry smiled at him. "The same way you did, Professor. Through the trapdoor up there. Rggggrrr is a stunning creature, isn't he?"

"Who?" Quirrell stared blankly at him.

"The dog," explained Harry patiently. "The one with three heads. Back there." He pointed back the way he had come. "Surely you must have noticed him? He's rather hard to miss."

"Ah, yes, the dog..." Quirrell regarded Harry thoughtfully for a moment. "You made it past the three-headed dog, did you? And all the other challenges as well? That's not bad for a small child... You have some rather extraordinary abilities, don't you, Harry?"

Harry flushed a little. "Oh, it was nothing, really..."

"Come here, Harry," said Quirrell in a low voice, and Harry stepped obediently closer to the young professor.

"Look into the mirror, Harry," whispered Quirrell. "Tell me, what do you see in there?"

Harry stared up at him in wonder. "What I _see_ in there? Er... you and me? Because we are standing in front of the mirror right now-?" Human wizards really did have a very difficult time grasping how mirrors worked, didn't they? Harry remembered Dumbledore asking him about mirrors and reflections as well. Wait... This was actually the same mirror! Harry looked more closely at the tall looking-glass. Yes, this was the mirror that Ron had found in that empty classroom, the one Dumbledore had asked him about. How very odd that someone had moved it down into this underground chamber! Wouldn't it have been more useful in a place where more people could see it?

"Do you see anything else in the mirror, Harry?" There was a curious trembling in Quirrell's voice now. "Do you see a red stone?"

Harry glanced at the teacher in surprise. The red stone? The lovely one that he had dreamt about? Why would he see it _in the mirror?_ What a terribly strange question! Was this some sort of joke? No, Quirrell's pale face looked perfectly serious and more than a little distressed.

Harry peered into the mirror. There they both were: A small boy with unruly black hair - Harry tried to push his hair down a little, but it wouldn't stay down - and his favorite teacher, looking a shade paler than usual.

But then...

Harry gasped out loud. _What was that?_

To his astonishment, his own reflection began to act very strangely. It moved, even if Harry didn't! How was _that_ possible? The boy in the mirror gazed up at the man next to him, and then he reached into the pocket of his school robes... _and pulled out a brilliant red stone!_

"What is it?" Quirrell's voice sounded terribly tense and anxious. "What do you see, child? Tell me!"

"The stone!" Harry could hardly believe his own eyes. "The boy in the mirror who looks like me has that beautiful red stone, and he is giving it to you! And you are looking ever so pleased!" He felt a warm little glow in his heart. It was wonderful to see the grave professor smile like that, even if it was only his reflection smiling in this weirdly enchanted mirror.

"You are giving me the stone?" breathed Quirrell. "Yes, Harry! Yes, give me the stone! I need it! I will give you anything you want in return; I will make you wealthy and powerful beyond all measure. I will restore your dead parents to you if you like. Just give me the stone!"

Harry blinked up at the professor in surprise. "Restore my parents? But they are dead! It's so very kind of you to offer, Professor, but I don't think that will be possible. Even magic can't do that, you see."

Suddenly, Harry became aware of something pointy pressing against his hip. There was something in his pocket! How strange - he couldn't remember putting anything in there. Harry reached down and pulled out the sharp-edged object. The red stone! It glittered in the warm torchlight like a small sun. How on earth did _that_ get into his pocket?

"The stone!" Quirrell's voice was hoarse. "Oh, Salazar! You have the stone! Give it to me, Harry! _Give it to me!"_

Harry beamed up at him. "Yes, of course! Here you go, Professor!" He handed the luminous red stone to the teacher.

Quirrell stood still for a long moment and just gazed at the jewel in his hand. Harry knew by looking at him that he must have wanted it very badly. How lovely that Harry had been able to get the beautiful stone for him! Quirrell was smiling now, just like he had in the mirror. In the back of Harry's mind, he could sense Shard smiling, too. Apparently, Shard had taken a liking to the young professor as well and was very pleased that he had finally found the stone he had wanted so much. _Yes, yes, yesyesyes! _whispered Shard inside his mind. _The stone!_

"I will reward you for this, Harry," Quirrell said finally, in a breathless sort of voice. "You have restored my immortality to me, you precious child."

"Immortality?" Harry was puzzled. "What's that, Professor?"

Quirrell smiled down at him. "It means that I will never die, Harry," he said softly. "I will use this miraculous stone to make a magic drink, the elixir of immortality, and as long as I drink it, I cannot die."

"Really?" Harry grinned. "That sounds like a lovely sort of magic! No wonder you wanted the stone so badly! It's so terribly sad when someone dies. I'm glad you won't, Professor." He gazed fondly up at Quirrell.

Quirrell studied Harry's face for a long time. Then he said slowly: "I have never cared very much for children, Harry. Nasty, cruel little creatures, most of them, or insufferable fools! But you... You are very different. You appear to be quite powerful, and you have rendered me a great favor I will not forget. I think I should like to keep you by my side, Harry, as my friend... What do you say, child, do you want to join me?"

Harry gazed at the professor in delight. Join Quirrell? Be by his side, as his friend? What a lovely idea! Perhaps Quirrell would even let him take a closer look at his shard?

Harry couldn't help himself. He knew that the professor was very shy, but he could not resist throwing his arms around his new friend and giving him a warm hug.

But as Harry wrapped his arms around Quirrell, he felt the young man's body stiffen. Uh oh. Maybe he didn't like to be hugged? The professor was moaning loudly now, as if in agony. For some reason, Harry's friendly touch seemed to cause him pain.

"What-? What is happening?" There was a sudden note of panic in Quirrell's voice. "Salazar, what are you doing to me, child? _Stop!_ _Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!"_ A horrible scream tore itself from Quirrell's thin lips, and he fell to the floor, writhing in pain.

And then, to Harry's horror, the poor professor's body began to dissolve in front of his very eyes!

"Oh, no! Oh _no_!" Harry tried desperately to stop the terrifying thing that was happening to his friend, but even the strongest fairy magic was powerless against the force that was tearing the professor apart, as if he were nothing more than a withered leaf in the wind. Soon, there was nothing left of Harry's beloved new friend but a handful of dust.

Harry sank down on the cold stone floor, sobbing helplessly. Oh, poor kind Professor Quirrell! Killed, by a mere touch! What _had _he done?

...

"There, there, Harry." Dumbledore patted Harry's head softly. "Do not blame yourself for his death, my dear boy. You have done nothing wrong, you understand."

"Nothing wrong?" Harry's sobs were still choking his words. "Nothing _wrong? _How... How can you say that? I made him die! It was my touch that killed him! And I had finally found him the stone, too, the one that would have made him... what was it called?...immortal!" Harry cried even harder now, and Dumbledore hugged him gently for a while.

When Harry finally ran out of tears, Dumbledore said in a low voice: "I know that this must be very difficult for you, Harry. But there are some very important things I have to explain to you now, and they will not be easy for you to hear. I need you to be very, very brave and listen to what I have to say."

Harry wiped his face on his sleeve and nodded silently.

...

Harry would never forget the strange and terrible things that Dumbledore told him that evening. It took Harry a very long time to grasp everything, and Dumbledore had to explain parts of the story to him over and over again.

Dumbledore told Harry that there was once a wizard called _Voldemort _who was the same as the nameless wizard some people called You-Know-Who. Voldemort was great and powerful, but he was also something Dumbledore called _evil. _Harry was not familiar with the word, and it took him a long time to understand it. Apparently, _evil _was some sort of great sadness inside you that made you want to hurt other living things. And that is why Voldemort had once killed Harry's parents, long ago, and even tried to kill Harry. But Harry hadn't died at all; he had escaped with just a scar. There had been some sort of magical accident, and Voldemort himself had been badly hurt. Everyone had assumed that he was dead, but he really wasn't. No one knew exactly what had happened, but somehow his wandering soul had eventually found its way into Professor Quirrell's body, and they had merged into one being.

Dumbledore tried to make Harry see that it would have been a very bad thing if Voldemort had been able to use the stone to make himself immortal, but Harry had a difficult time understanding this. Apparently, Dumbledore felt that someone who had turned _evil _was just going to keep hurting others, and that it was, overall, a good thing if an evil person was no longer around to hurt other living creatures. Harry could see that there was some sort of cold logic in this, but he couldn't help feeling a terrible stab in his heart when he thought about poor Quirrell and his shard. Quirrell had become Harry's friend, even if his sadness had made him want to hurt people in the past, including Harry. Surely, Harry felt, there must be some cure for this sort of _evil_ that had plagued his sad friend? Some sort of medicine, like the cheering elixirs fairies gave to those who had glum dispositions? But Dumbledore just shook his head and said that to the best of his knowledge, no one had yet discovered a medicine that could cure evil.

But in the end, Dumbledore said something that made Harry feel a little bit better. He leaned forward across his desk and said in a soft voice: "It was the remnants of you mother's magic that caused Professor Quirrell's death, Harry. She died to protect you, you see, and there is a great power in sacrificial death, greater than any other magic, perhaps. But I am not entirely convinced, Harry, that Lord Voldemort is entirely gone, even now..."

"Really?" Harry blew his nose on a big handkerchief Dumbledore had thoughtfully provided for him. "Not entirely gone? Are... Are you just saying that to make me feel better-?" He could hear the trembling in his own voice. "I... I was so terribly fond of him, you see. Even if he was filled with sadness and evil." He couldn't help thinking that poor Lord Voldemort sounded a lot like his own Shard, but he didn't say so out loud. Harry could sense, of course, that Shard was terribly torn up over Quirrell's death as well, and Shard's grief added to Harry's own.

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "No, Harry. I'm not just saying this to make you feel better. I am convinced that, somehow, the Dark Lord will one day be back..."

Harry squeezed Dumbledore's wrinkled old hand gratefully. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore!" he whispered. "You are so very kind to say that."

...

Professor McGonagall taught the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes for the rest of the year, but she did so without any great enthusiasm. The students spoke about Quirrell in hushed tones among themselves, while the teachers generally avoided mentioning him altogether after what had happened.

"Is it true that you _killed_ Quirrell in a secret underground chamber?" whispered Draco to Harry one day the two of them were alone in the Slytherin common room.

Harry looked down. "It was a horrible accident, Draco! I didn't mean to kill him, really I didn't..." He swallowed, hard.

"Is it true that he was actually... You-Know-Who?" breathed Draco. "The Dark Lord himself?"

Harry nodded slowly. "That's what Dumbledore says." He didn't look up, but he could feel Draco's glance lingering on his face.

"You... _killed _the Dark Lord, the most powerful wizard of all time..." Draco's voice was almost inaudible.

Harry covered his face with his hands. "I know!" A small sob escaped him. "But I didn't mean to, Draco, I swear I didn't! I'd do anything to bring him back to life! I was so very fond of him, and we had just become friends. Professor Quirrell was ever so nice to me - he even offered to keep me by his side and be my friend."

"The... The Dark Lord said that? And you... want to bring him back?"

Harry nodded, and both boys fell silent.

"You know what, Harry?" whispered Draco finally. "I'm really glad you and Weasley are coming home with me for the Christmas holiday. I think my father would love to meet you..."

...

Draco's parents were the most wonderfully kind people Harry had ever met. Harry had been a little reluctant at first to accept Draco's thoughtful invitation to spend the holiday with his family - he knew that Leaf and Twig had been counting the days until his return - but as soon as he met the Malfoys, he was glad he chose to come home with Draco.

Harry missed Leaf and Twig terribly, of course, but it was so lovely to visit his new friend. Harry had sent Leaf and Twig new fishing hats, and they wrote him enthusiastic notes back saying how much they adored the hats. They also sent along a few items for the Malfoys, and Harry had suggested.

Ron's family had been very reluctant to let him go with Harry to the Malfoys - Harry supposed his parents must miss him very badly - but Ron finally got permission from his parents after promising to write to them at least twice a day.

"I think it was the thought of _you_ that changed my Mum's mind, actually," confessed Ron in a whisper as the two boys sat in the back of the Malfoys family's splendid horse-drawn carriage on their way to Malfoy Manor on a chilly December day. "I told her that if I didn't go, you would be alone with the Malfoys for weeks..."

Malfoy Manor was as vast as half a forest, and exquisitely beautiful. It was carved out of frost-white marble and had all sorts of thrilling echoes in it. It was much too large for three people, of course, so his parents must have been very relieved that Draco had brought friends home with him for the holiday.

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were ever so pleasant and friendly, even if their smiles seemed a little stiff at first. But they soon got over their initial shyness, and Mr. Malfoy asked Harry all sorts of questions about himself and about fairy-magic, and he took a keen interest in Harry's friendship with the unfortunate Quirrell. It was really a great comfort to be able to talk to someone so kind and sympathetic. Mrs. Malfoy was a little more quiet, but she admired Harry's fairy-made clothes, and she was very pleased when Harry gave all the Malfoys fairy-spun cloaks for Christmas. Harry would have given one to Ron as well, but he knew that Ron had long wished for a new wand. Ron's old wand had been rather old and tattered, so Harry had arranged for a new one for his friend.

"A new wand!" Ron's eyes lit up as he opened his present in the Malfoys' vast sitting room on Christmas morning. "Blimey! Thank you so much, Harry! What sort of wand is this? Willow?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. It doesn't have a magical thing inside it or anything, like the store-bought ones do, but it is a very good one still. I got it from a charming tree on the school grounds; she was so very pleased that one of her branches was going to be used for magic."

Ron almost dropped his wand. "This... This is a piece of _the Whomping Willow?" _He stared down at his new wand in horror.

Harry shrugged. "Yes, I supposed the tree _did _whomp a little, now that you mention it. Try the wand, Ron! It will be great, I promise!"

Ron hesitated for a while, but then he pointed his new wand at one of the portraits on the wall: "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

"Heyyyyyyyy!" the portrait screamed as it shot off up into the air. "What are you doingggggggggg?"

"Uh oh." Draco gazed up into the air, where the portrait was now circling around high above their heads at dizzying speed, bumping against the tall arched ceiling at intervals. "That's grandfather Cygnus' portrait! He is _not _going to like that!"

"Oh, nonsense, boy!" said one of the other family portraits cheerfully. "If there was ever anyone who needed a little shaking up, it's the portrait of Cygnus Black. He's such a terrible bore! Always droning on and _on _about the greatness of the Black family!" The blond man in the portrait beamed at Harry and Ron. "The _other_ side of the family, of course! I'm Abraxas, by the way. Abraxas Malfoy. Draco's _other _grandfather."

"Nice to meet you," said Harry politely. To his surprise, Shard was stirring in his mind now, muttering something about Abraxas being _such _a pain in the neck when he was a schoolboy. How did Shard know _that?_

Ron uttered a quick _Finite Incantatem, _and the sputtering portrait of Cygnus Black descended into its normal spot on the wall. Even Draco couldn't help giggling a little at the expression of outraged disbelief on Mr. Black's face. Cygnus Black tried to appeal to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, but they merely ignored him and sipped their mulled wine. Apparently, they were used to his complaints.

Harry was touched to see a small pile of presents under the Malfoys' Christmas tree marked with his name as well. Ron got him some very interesting jumping edible frogs, and Ron's mother had sent along home-made green jumpers for everyone, including Harry. Mrs. Malfoy gave her new jumper an odd glance and shuddered ever so slightly, but both Mr. Malfoy and Draco put theirs on, and Ron looked very pleased. Mrs. Weasley had knitted silver serpents into the green jumpers, and they looked quite lovely. The jumpers were not as elegant as the clothes the Malfoys usually wore, but no one could deny that they were very warm and cozy.

But the loveliest present of all was the one that the kind Mr. Malfoy gave to Harry. It was a small rectangular package, wrapped in green paper. Harry could tell that it was a book, and he tore the paper off eagerly. He loved books!

As he unwrapped the package, he could suddenly sense Shard stirring in his mind. Something about the book seemed to catch his attention.

The book was quite old, and a little worn, but it had a lovely dark leather binding. The pages were all blank, so that someone could write whatever they wanted in there. A diary!

"Wow! It's beautiful!" Harry smiled up at Mr. Malfoy. "Thank you so much!"

"My pleasure!" said Mr. Malfoy softly. "A little something for you to bring back to school with you, Harry! I hope you will use it often."

"Oh, I will!" Harry gazed lovingly at the wonderful gift. What a thoughtful present!

_Mine! _whispered Shard in the back of his mind. _That is my diary! Mine, mine, mine!_


	9. In Black Ink

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**...**

**~In Black Ink~**

**...**

**Warning: **This is a Harry-Voldemort romance!

**Author's Note: **My apologies for the long delay in posting this chapter. Real life has been interfering with my fiction lately, but I'll do my best to fend it off. Thank you for your patience and for all the thoughtful and encouraging reviews.

...

** ~This chapter is dedicated to han8661 - Happy birthday, Hannah!~**

...

_O fearful meditation! where, alack, _  
><em>Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?<em>  
><em>Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? <em>  
><em>Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? <em>  
><em> O, none, unless this miracle have might,<em>  
><em> That in black ink my love may still shine bright.<em>

(From Shakespeare's Sonnet 65)

...

The diary the kind Mr. Malfoy had given him turned out to be even more wonderful than Harry had first realized. Not only did the book have lovely thick cream-colored pages you could write on, but - as Harry discovered to his infinite delight - _it even wrote back!_

Harry was ever so excited the first time this happened. Harry, Ron, and Draco spent the last chilly days of their Christmas break curled up in front of a cozy fire in one of the Malfoys' many vast sitting rooms. This particular afternoon, Ron and Draco were having a lengthy and oddly stiff conversation about prominent wizarding families in Britain, and Harry was bored out of his wits. Draco was rattling off long lists of names as reverently as if they were ancient spells, and he was inquiring about the Weasley family's connections to each one of these families. Harry could tell that Draco was making an effort to get to know Ron, but it wasn't going terribly well. Ron's contributions to the conversation consisted mostly of pregnant pauses, indifferent shrugs, and occasional "dunnos", so Harry excused himself politely after a while and went to his room to find his new diary instead.

Harry had decided to use the beautiful volume Mr. Malfoy had given him to record his adventures at Hogwarts, so that Leaf and Twig and the other fairies could read about them afterwards. But the diary appeared to have other ideas!

_My name is Harry, _wrote Harry in his best handwriting. As he sat for a moment, wondering how best to proceed from there - should he begin the story with the wondrous letter he had received from Hogwarts, or with his journey on the magnificent scarlet Hogwarts Express? - dark ink began to appear on the page before him.

_Hello, Harry,_ said the diary. _My name is Tom Riddle. _

Harry stared at the page in wonder. _Tom Riddle? _He felt a slight shiver at his spine. But that was... That was _Voldemort! _The sad wizard whose soul had taken refuge in poor Professor Quirrell's body! Was he still alive, then, after all? Harry reached out and traced the curly black letters on the page with a trembling finger, and to his delight, he felt something deep within the pages respond to his touch. A shard! There was a piece of broken soul hidden inside this book! And not only that - it could _talk_ to him!

Harry dipped his quill in ink and wrote rapidly, his heart pounding in his chest: _Tom! I'm so happy you are in there! I was so afraid I would never see you again! I'm so terribly sorry about poor Quirrell - I really truly did not mean to kill him. Please forgive me! Your devoted friend Harry. _

The page was blank for a moment, and Harry could sense some slight confusion emanating from the creamy paper. Then the black letters appeared again, in the same elegant hand as before: _Who is this Quirrell? Why did you kill him? And who are you, Harry? Are you a wizard?_

It took Harry a long time to explain the story about his friend Quirrell and his shard to the diary, and his hand hurt quite a bit by the time he was done. The shard in the diary had a great many questions, especially about the lovely red stone, and Harry answered them all to the best of his ability.

_And that's the whole story, Tom, _he wrote finally. _As far as I understand it, at least. I was trying to give Professor Quirrell the stone his shard wanted, but I accidentally killed my friend instead. You don't mind me calling you Tom, do you? Or do you want me to call you Voldemort or You-Know-Who instead? I suppose it would be a little silly to call you You-Know-Who when I'm writing _to _you, wouldn't it? I mean, of course you know who, right? _

The diary appeared to think about this for a moment. Then it replied in elegant cursive: _You can call me Tom. I have sometimes thought of calling myself Voldemort, but I've never told anyone about that. It's my secret name for myself. How do _you_ know that name? _

Harry blinked down at the curly black letters, puzzled. How could Tom not know about becoming Voldemort? Dumbledore had told Harry that Tom Riddle had changed his name to Voldemort - although _why_ someone would change a lovely name like "Tom" into something so long and cumbersome was still a mystery to Harry. But how could Tom himself forget about his own name? Harry ran his finger over the thick paper again, sensing the soul-shard stirring in there.

And suddenly, Harry understood: Tom, the shard in the diary, felt a lot _younger_ than Professor Quirrell's shard. There was something about the shard hidden in the pages of the book that felt almost like a boy still, perhaps no more than a few years older than Harry himself. Perhaps _this_ shard had become separated from the splintered soul of the Dark Lord while he was still quite young? Yes, that would explain why Tom did not know that he had become Voldemort later.

Harry picked up his quill again. _I am so happy to have found you again, Tom, _he wrote. _I thought you were completely gone when Quirrell died. The soul shard inside him that I told you about was _yours_ - did I forget to mention that? It was a piece of you! That's why I feel that I know you already even if we have just met._

_A shard of soul? _wrote Tom. _My soul? Listen, Harry, I want to..._

There was a faint knock on the door, and Harry closed the diary quickly. He wasn't ready to share the wonderful secret of the diary with anyone else. He wanted Tom to be just _his _friend for a little while. Perhaps he might introduce him to Ron later, but not quite yet. "Come in," Harry called out, hiding the diary inside his robes.

A strange and amiable little being appeared in the doorway, holding a steaming mug. He looked like a very old fairy who had merged with a long-eared bat through some sort of magical accident. "Would Master care for some hot chocolate?" he asked shyly.

"I don't know," said Harry, smiling at the friendly creature. "He's in his study, I think, with Mrs. Malfoy. I can go and ask him if you want."

His visitor giggled a little. "Oh, no, Harry Potter, sir. I was speaking of you, Master Harry, sir."

"Oh." Harry blushed. "I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood you. What's your name?"

"Dobby, sir," whispered the creature.

Harry nodded solemnly at him. "A pleasure to meet you, Dobby. I didn't know that the Malfoys had any other guests. But I suppose it makes sense that they would, in a house this large. They must get quite lonely in this vast house sometimes. Yes, I would love some hot chocolate, Mr. Dobby. How very thoughtful of you to ask! How long have you been a guest here? Did you just arrive?"

"_Guest, _sir?" Dobby stared wide-eyed at Harry for a moment, and then he hurried toward Harry, the mug shaking in his trembling hands. "Oh, no, Master Harry. Dobby is no guest, sir. Dobby is a _house elf_, Master Harry sir. Bringing you chocolate."

In his eagerness, the elf spilled a few drops of chocolate on the marble floor, and Harry reached for a handkerchief to help him clean it up. But the little elf just stood there frozen, staring at the little puddle of foam on the floor. The next moment, some sort of strange madness seemed to come over him, and he dashed over to the fireplace and started smacking himself over the head with a piece of firewood.

"What are you doing?" cried Harry in alarm. But Dobby kept hitting himself in the head with the firewood with all his might. He was going to start bleeding soon, or knock himself out cold.

Harry stared at him in horror. He realized that the little elf must be suffering from some horrible delusion. Perhaps he thought there was a spider on his head? Had poor Dobby picked the wrong mushrooms out in the forest and started seeing things? Or had some strange illness come over him?

Harry rushed over to the little elf and touched him with a spark of the strongest, most soothing magic he could muster. "There, there, Dobby," said Harry gently and reached for the piece of firewood. Dobby let go of the wood and stood completely still for a moment, regarding Harry with a puzzled expression.

"What were you doing, Dobby?" asked Harry in his softest voice.

"Punishing myself, sir," said Dobby weakly. "For spilling chocolate, sir."

Harry shook his head slowly. He flung the piece of wood aside and put his hands on Dobby's tiny shoulders. "You were taken ill, weren't you, Dobby?" he said in his most calming voice. "Your illness is making you say some very strange things right now. Why would anyone want to punish _themselves_?"

"Ill?" Dobby looked up at him, dazed, with huge gooseberry eyes. "No, Harry Potter, sir... Dobby is not ill, just careless, sir. House elves are meant to serve their masters, and they must punish themselves if they make any mistakes."

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry at this absurd statement. "No, no, Dobby! That's just silly. It must be your illness making you think odd thoughts like that. Here!" He gave Dobby another little spark of his magic. "Do you feel better now? Are you able to think straight?"

Dobby stood silently for a moment, a baffled expression on his small wrinkled face. Then he lit up in a smile. "Yes, Dobby _is _feeling a lot better now, Harry Potter sir."

"You don't want to punish yourself any more, do you?" Harry watched the elf anxiously.

Dobby shook his head. "No, Mr. Potter." He sounded slightly surprised at his own words. "Dobby doesn't want to punish himself any more because... because..." He appeared to be searching for the right words. Then he nodded: "Because it _hurts_! And Dobby doesn't actually like getting hurt."

"Of course you don't," said Harry and patted Dobby on the arm. "I mean, who would? And to punish yourself for spilling a little chocolate is just..."

"Silly!" The elf's eyes were shining now. "That's what it is, Mr. Potter. Just plain silly!" He giggled a little. "Why would anyone think to do something that ridiculous in the first place?"

"I have no idea," smiled Harry. "Here, why don't we share the chocolate?"

Dobby settled himself comfortably among the plump cushions on Harry's bed and they passed the mug of chocolate back and forth, taking turns sipping the hot sweet liquid.

"Dobby really should be getting back to scrubbing the cellars," muttered the little elf after a while. "But Dobby is feeling very tired, Mr. Potter. Dobby worked all night baking bread for Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, and now Dobby would like to take a nap." He curled up among Harry's blankets.

"You do that, Dobby," said Harry and gave his new friend a quick hug.

"Ouch," muttered Dobby sleepily. "There is something sharp in your robes, Mr. Potter."

"Oh, sorry about that!" Harry reached down and felt his diary inside his robes. "Just my diary. The one Mr. Malfoy gave me."

"Diary?" Dobby's eyes suddenly flew open. "Harry Potter must not use that diary! Dobby heard Mr. Malfoy talking about it, and Master was saying that there is something hidden in it. Master said that it would be clever to give the diary to the Potter boy, since he will not understand the danger until it is too late... Harry Potter must not touch the diary!"

"Danger?" Harry sighed a little. "Oh, no! Is your head still bothering you, then? Don't worry, Dobby. Of course Mr. Malfoy would not give me a dangerous present. You are just feeling a little unwell still, that's all. Get some rest now."

"All right, Mr. Potter," breathed Dobby and closed his eyes.

Harry sat and watched him for a while, making sure that the little elf was comfortable. When Dobby was sleeping soundly, Harry reached into his robes and pulled out the diary again, opening it to the page where he has left off.

_Hello, Tom,_ he wrote. _I'm back. _

He stared at the blank page for a moment, suddenly anxious that Tom wouldn't respond. But then black ink bloomed across the page, and lovely curvy letters appeared in the diary.

_I have missed you, Harry. It's very lonely in here, without someone to talk to. _

Harry felt a stab of pity for poor Tom. Of course he must be lonely in there, deep inside that silent book! _I wish you could come out here for a moment, so I could see you, _wrote Harry.

_I wish so too,_ wrote Tom back.

_Come out, _whispered Shard in the back of Harry's mind. _Come, Tom, come... _

...

It was lovely to be back at Hogwarts again. Harry had appreciated the Malfoys' kind invitation, of course, but it was wonderful to arrive back at school and see all his other friends as well.

Ron's older brothers, Fred and George, pulled Ron aside and examined him closely for any signs of Slytherin contamination after his stay with the Malfoys, but in the end, they decided that he was unharmed.

"It makes me nervous when you spend time with that Malfoy boy," muttered Fred. "From what we have been hearing, you didn't even pull any proper pranks on the Malfoy family when you stayed with them. How could you waste such a splendid opportunity? Young Harry here, on the other hand, seems to have made a little more of an effort, judging by Draco's whining about his family's house elf who suddenly decided to take a week's holiday in Majorca. Nice use of fairy magic, Harry! But what about you, Ron? Did you put as much as a small dungbomb in Draco's sock drawer? No, you did not. Acted all chummy toward the boy, from what we hear. Did you know that Draco has been going around school _saying _things about our family ever since you got back from Christmas break?"

Ron stared at him in alarm. "Malfoy's been saying things about us? What sorts of things?"

George leaned a little closer. "He's been saying that the Weasleys are "not a bad sort of family", and that we are of "an ancient pure-blood lineage"..." His ordinarily pale face was quite flushed with indignation.

"Er... Okay-?" Ron gazed blankly at his brother.

"_Okay_?" Fred glared at him. "Are you off your rocker, Ron? We can't have _Slytherins _going around saying that sort of thing about our family. How in the name of Merlin's most moldy underwear am I going to win the heart of a stunning girl named _Johnson_ if people keep spreading the rumor that we are some sort of stuffy pure-blood wizards related to the Blacks and the Malfoys? You are not making life easy for us, Ron. Have you no consideration for your family's Muggle-loving reputation?"

"That Malfoy boy could be a bad influence on you. We haven't seen any signs of corruption in you _yet, _but we are watching you very closely," said George gravely. "I'm warning you, Ron: The moment we catch you trying to add any little marble and silver touches to your room at home, or complain about Dad's salary or Mum's jumpers, we'll tell Percy who's been stealing his buttons."

Ron turned light pink. "You _wouldn't... _Hey, how do _you_ know about the buttons?"

"Oh," said Fred airily, "we have our ways of knowing about the comings and goings around the castle, little brother."

"What ways?" asked Harry curiously.

George grinned. "That is for us to know and the two of you to find out. Or _not_ find out. We'll keep an eye on you both, for your own safety."

Fred breathed something in his twin's ear that Harry couldn't quite catch. Something like "And next time, we will _not _assume that any fragmented letters squished into the back of someone's dot are just a typo, or part of his turban..."

George whispered something back, and Fred frowned. "Harry's dot? Oh, don't worry about it. I'm pretty sure that's just his fairy magic making the dot a little funny..."

...

That night, after everyone else was asleep, Harry wrote page after page in the diary. He wanted to help poor Tom feel better about being trapped inside the diary, so he tried to think of nice stories to tell him. Tom liked hearing about the forest and about the ancient magic of the fairies, but most of all, he loved to hear about school.

_Tell me more about Hogwarts, _wrote Tom. _Tell me about the flickering torchlight along the corridors, and the damp rising from the dungeons. Tell me about the scent of leather and dust in the library, and about the blue light slanting through the arched windows in the Great Hall... I miss seeing it all. I felt at home there. It was the only place that ever felt like home._

And Harry wrote and wrote, and Tom wrote back, until it was nearly morning.

_Tell me about that beautiful red stone again, _wrote Tom. _Tell me what happened to it. Where is it now?_

Harry smiled. How curious, that Tom seemed to have fallen instantly in love with the idea of that beautiful stone, just like Quirrell had!

Harry was struggling to keep his eyes open, but he added quickly to the diary: _Oh, I think Dumbledore must have destroyed it. Seems a pity, doesn't it?_

_Yes, a pity_, agreed Tom. _It would be so lovely to see the stone, just once..._


	10. Gilderoy Lockhart

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**...**

**~Gilderoy Lockhart~**

**...**

**Warning: **This is still a Harry-Voldemort romance!

**Author's Note: **My apologies for the very long delay in posting this chapter! Life's been a little challenging lately, but I'm back to writing again. Thank you so very much for all the encouraging reviews!

...

Harry's friendship with the soul shard in the diary deepened over the next few months. He would spend hours every night, long after the other Slytherin boys were asleep, talking to Tom.

Tom liked hearing about fairies, but he also loved talking about school, and about spells and wizarding magic. Sometimes, when Tom wrote about the things he loved the best, such as the old morocco-bound books in the Hogwarts library, the echo of footsteps down long-forgotten corridors of the castle, or the scent of the wild apple blossoms down by the lake in spring, Harry almost felt as if Tom was becoming a little bit visible. Sometimes, when Tom's words grew wistful on the page and his writing slowed, Harry could begin make out a faint outline of a boy in the shadowy dormitory.

The boy was very lovely to look at, with night-dark curls and eyes the color of moonlight on water. Harry would hold his breath whenever the boy flickered into view, hoping that he would stay and become more real. But the phantom boy never lingered for more than a few moments before fading into the darkness again.

But other nights, Tom would write about strange dark thoughts that filled his mind, and then Harry couldn't see him at all. Harry suspected that the poor, beautiful boy in the diary had been wounded when he had been torn from the soul to which he had once belonged, for there were times when Tom said things that sounded a bit mad.

Tom had some curious ideas about blood, for example. He would sometimes talk to Harry about blood, and about how there were different sorts of blood in the world. Some wizards, he explained to Harry, had _pure_ blood, while others had only _half _blood, and others had blood that was _muddy. _Harry read Tom's words with growing alarm. Perhaps there was some terrible wound in Tom's soul shard that made him believe these strange things? Harry had seen blood before, of course, and he knew that it was all the same, red and wet, unless you happened to be a unicorn (in which case your blood would be silvery) or a very old dragon (whose blood often took on a slight golden sheen). But mud in your blood? Surely that would make you terribly sick? And how could anyone get by with only _half_ blood? Harry shook his head slowly as he read Tom's fevered ramblings. He touched the letters in the diary that spelled out Tom's madness, sending little sparks of fairy magic into the page, until Tom stopped saying such wild things and began to remember the feel of grass under his feet on a spring morning instead._  
><em>

...

The spring months went by quickly for Harry and his friends, and soon all the students were busy with something called exams. Harry liked exams very much. Instead of the teachers talking incessantly to the students, as they did during the rest of the school year (which could make you a little sleepy at times), the professors wrote down questions about things they would like to know more about, and the students got to tell them what _they_ knew. Harry made sure to include all sorts of interesting information about plants for Professor Snape (would't he be surprised to learn that raspberry leaves made you delightfully ticklish, and that juniper berries gave you a clearer singing voice?) and the _real _story behind the Goblin Rebellion for Professor Binns. How Binns would laugh when he realized that the whole thing had started with a fairy joke that was lost in translation!

And all too soon came the end of the school year, the farewell feast, and the journey home for the summer. Harry missed his new friends very badly during the summer months, of course, but at least he had Shard and Tom. He had wanted to bring Ron and Draco home to the forest for the summer as well, but Leaf had hinted delicately that the other outcast fairies were not quite ready for three human wizard children at once, especially if two of them were very new at magic.

"Perhaps your friends can come when they are a little older," wrote Leaf in a letter to Harry. "When they have their magic completely under control and won't take someone's eyes out by mistake. Too many mis-fired spells in the forest, and we would attract the attention of the Faerie Queen and her henchmen, and I'm sure no one wants _that!_"

So Harry and Hedwig went home by themselves, and they spent a lovely summer in the forest surrounded by all their old fairy and animal friends. Leaf and Twig couldn't get enough of listening to Harry's stories of Hogwarts and all his new friends, and Hedwig was the star of the fir tree where the owls lived. Wolf was ecstatic to see Harry as well, of course, but unfortunately, he didn't seem to care for Tom very much. In fact, Wolf tried to rip the diary apart as soon as Harry's back was turned, but Harry could sense Tom's anguish and managed to tear the diary away from Wolf just in time. Fortunately, Tom wasn't hurt, although he was a little shaken up. Harry put the torn pages back together with his best fairy magic, and Tom's writing appeared just as clearly as it had before. But there was no denying that Wolf had given both Tom and Harry a bad fright, and Harry made sure he carried the diary with him at all times after that.

...

"Have you heard, Harry?" said Ron as they were all gathered in the Great Hall again for the Welcoming Feast in the fall. "There is a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher again, and this one is apparently famous. My Mum has read every single one of his books."

Harry looked up at the staff table with interest. To his disappointment, the new professor was very different from Quirrell. He had no secret soul shard or interesting turban, just a lot of brilliant hair and shiny teeth. And whereas poor Quirrell had always seemed a bit melancholy, the new professor appeared to be terribly happy; his smile swept over the room like a merciless beam of bright lamplight.

Draco glanced doubtfully at the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher as well. "Apparently, Professor Lockhart knows a lot of banshees and vampires. We are to read all of his books about his encounters with them for class." He wrinkled his nose a little. "According to my father, some of the Old World vampires are quite civilized, but I don't see why anyone would want to get acquainted with a banshee."

"Banshees are very excitable, of course," nodded Harry. "But what's a vampire? I've never met one of those."

Ron shuddered ever so slightly. "They are sort of like human wizards, Harry, except that they are immortal, and they like to _drink_ _human_ _blood_... They'll even bite your neck to suck your blood out if they are really thirsty."

"Oh." Harry pondered this stunning piece of information for a while. Vampires drank human blood? Oh no! Perhaps _that _was how some wizards had become half-blood? What a strange and terrible thought!

As soon as the feast was over, Professor Lockhart swooped down on Harry like some large beaming bird of prey. "Harry, Harry, _Harry_!"

He clicked his tongue and regarded Harry with an expression of tender exasperation.

"What?" Harry looked up at him, bewildered.

"I hear that you have been going around telling people that you we're raised by _fairies_!" Lockhart shook his shiny golden head a little. "Was it reading my books that set this off, Harry? I have seen this before, of course: An impressionable child picks up one of my works, and before you know it, he imagines that he is off on some grand adventure of his own..." Lockhart sighed. "All very understandable, of course, but it won't do to go around telling others that your imagined adventures are _real_, Harry! Especially since even a child knows that fairies don't exist! Now, if you had claimed to have been raised by grindylows, I am sure you would have found a gullible believer or two. But fairies! My dear boy, you can't expect anyone to believe that!" He petted Harry gently on the head. "Oh, don't look so alarmed! No harm done, Harry - I understand how easy it is to be carried away when you first begin reading my books. It's all right to fantasize about being like me, of course, but perhaps you had better keep those thoughts to yourself in the future! And for Merlin's sake, try to keep it realistic, Harry! I mean, _fairies!"_

The Slytherin students stared at Lockhart in silence for a long moment.

"Er... Harry can fly, sir," said Draco Malfoy weakly.

"And walk through doors," muttered Blaise Zabini.

Lockhart's smile grew even more brilliant. "Oh, come now, boys! Flying and walking through doors? Mere fantasies inspired by a certain passage on page 136 of _Voyage_ _With_ _A_ _Vampire!_ You really must try to keep your wild imagination in check, Harry! I will see you all in Defense Against the Dark Arts class in the morning, and I will treat you to some exciting stories of _real_ adventure!"

He flashed them all a dazzling smile and walked off, bright turquoise robes billowing behind him. Harry could hear Lockhart muttering under his breath: "Completely star-struck, poor child!"

Harry stared after him. "He thinks I was hit by a _star_? You know, I think there is something wrong with poor Professor Lockhart; he seems terribly confused."

Blaise Zabini shrugged. "Oh, he will figure it all out soon enough, Harry!" He snorted disdainfully. "_Voyage_ _with_ _A_ _Vampire_, indeed! As if any pure-blood vampire would give _him_ the time of day!"

In response to Draco's quizzical glance, he muttered: "My former uncle by marriage is from an old vampire family. My aunt divorced him because of his...er... drinking problem."

"Ah," murmured Draco sympathetically.

...

Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Lockhart proved to be a very curious experience indeed. For some reason, all the textbooks had pictures of a smiling Lockhart on the cover. "Me!" exclaimed Lockhart as he held up two of the smiling books next to his own smiling face. Harry looked at the three identical smiles and was suddenly reminded, irresistibly, of the three-headed Fluffy.

"Gilderoy Lockhart, five time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!" said Lockhart happily.

"Too bad!" squeaked a tiny voice in Pixie somewhere nearby. "Because I bet _that _would have worked!" A chorus of hysterical Pixie laughter followed.

Uh oh. Pixies! Harry glanced quickly around the room. Yes! There they were, under the blanket that fluttered suspiciously on Lockhart's desk. Harry frowned. Bringing pixies into a roomful of children did _not _strike him as a very good idea. Pixies were very beautiful to look at, of course, with their lovely bluebell color and delicate transparent wings, and their chatter could be quite amusing, but Harry knew that pixies were full of tricks. They always seemed to think it was hilarious to pick up non-flying creatures and leave them in high places, watching them struggle to get down.

Unfortunately, Professor Lockhart didn't seem to know pixies nearly as well as he appeared to know ghouls, trolls, banshees, and vampires, for he tore the blanket off the cage that held the pixies and opened the little wire door with a flourish: "Cornish pixies! Let's see what you make of them, class!"

The next moment, the classroom was buzzing with tiny blue creatures who reached for the screaming children and laughed gleefully.

Lockhart staggered backwards. "Pe-peskipiksi pesternomi," he babbled, absurdly.

The pixies just laughed even harder at that and began to lift Neville into the air by his ears. Poor Neville screamed in terror as his feet left the ground. He seemed to be even worse with heights than Trevor.

"Excuse me!" said Harry sternly in his best Pixie, flying after Neville and the pixies. "We will _not_ be playing those games today. Let go, please." He sent a shower of his strongest fairy magic in Neville's direction, and the pixies who were carrying him let go, startled. Harry lowered Neville gently to the ground.

"Oh!" exclaimed a small pixie who had been about to pull Harry's hair. He withdrew his hand quickly. "Beg your pardon, sir, we didn't know you were another flying creature. No harm meant, I'm sure. We just wanted to play with the flightless ones a bit. Just a bit of harmless fun. Care to join us? If you help us, we might even be able to lift up the big shiny one with all the teeth. Think the chandelier will hold him?" His tiny voice was as clear and lovely as a small silver bell.

"No," said Harry firmly. "We will not be lifting anyone. These are my friends, and I want you to leave them alone."

The pixie frowned. "They are _all _yours? Oh, _drat _it, we didn't realize these were taken already. Mind if we have just one or two? No? Hey! Careful with that magic, sir - do you want to burn a chap's wings off? All right, all _right,_ sir, keep your hair on! We were just leaving."

The pixies, who were looking very nervously at Harry now, headed quickly for the open window. Soon they had all vanished into the bright September air, muttering a few choice bad words in their little tinkling voices as they flew off.

Lockhart, who had been crouching behind his desk, glanced up at Harry, who was still hovering near the ceiling. "Ha-Harry?" His dazzling smile had vanished now, and he was looking distinctly ill at ease. "Why... why are you up there?" His voice was cracking now, and beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. "You _can't_ be up there! Oh, Merlin, I am hallucinating! Excuse me, children, I am feeling rather unwell... I will be in my office." He dashed out of the classroom door, leaving only a stack of brightly smiling books behind on his desk.

...

Harry did feel bad about poor Lockhart, who had looked quite ill indeed, so after calming Neville down, he decided to stop by the professor's office and see how he was doing. But as he was walking in the direction of Lockhart's office, he suddenly heard a great voice from somewhere inside the ancient stone walls, speaking in Snake:

*_Come. Come to me... Want to rip... Want to tear... Come to me!" _

_Snake! _whispered Shard happily in the back of Harry's mind. _Snakesnakesnake!_

Harry paused and listened. Yes, there was definitely a snake somewhere nearby, and a large one, too, by the sounds of it. He sounded rather moody, though. What exactly was it he wanted to rip? Harry hesitated. Normally, he would be happy to talk to any animal, but something about the voice of this particular snake didn't sound at all friendly.

_Lonely snake? _suggested Shard, and Harry realized that Shard may very well be right. Perhaps this poor snake was just unhappy because he was all by himself?

*Hello!* called Harry in Snake. *Where are you, then? I can hear you, but I can't see you.*

There was a sudden pause in the low hissing inside the wall. Then the voice came again: _*Come. Come to me. Just follow my voice... Follow me...*_

*All right!* called Harry back. *Just keep talking then, and I'll find you in a minute.* He walked quickly along the ancient stone corridors, following the faint sound of muttered Snake behind the walls. He could sense Shard stirring eagerly in the back of his mind now, anxious to see the great serpent.

But what was _that_? Something was stirring in the pocket of Harry's robes, and something sharp poked him in the ribs. It took Harry a moment to realize that it was his diary. How strange - he had never known it to move on its own accord before!

"Tom?" Harry paused his steps and pulled the diary from his pocket. "What are you doing, Tom?" He pulled the diary out and opened it.

_You_ _mustn't_ _follow_ _the__ basilisk, Harry, _wrote the diary. _I don't want _you_ to be the one opening the chamber. Someone else, perhaps. But not you. I want you to stay here and tell me stories. Please?_

Harry stared, uncertainly, at the elegant handwriting that danced across the page.

*_Come!* _insisted the snake. *_Come to me!*_

Harry felt in his pocket for a quill so he could write something back to Tom, but he didn't have one.

_*Lonely snake*, _whispered Shard. *_Oursnake, oursnake.*_

Harry hesitated for a moment, then whispered into the diary: "It'll be all right, Tom. I'll tell you a story as soon as I get back. I won't be long." He closed the diary gently and put it back in his pocket. Was it just his imagination, or did the book still stir a little even after he closed it?

*_Come!* _said the voice inside the wall. The snake sounded a little upset now. He must be getting very lonely inside that heavy wall by himself, poor thing.

*All right!* said Harry soothingly. *Don't worry! I'm coming!*


	11. The Basilisk

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**...**

**~The Basilisk~**

**Warning: **Tom/Harry romance in progress.

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed and favorited this story! And an extra "thank you" to **dogsby** who had a great suggestion for what Harry should do with the basilisk!**_  
><em>**

...

*Follow me!* whispered the great snake inside the walls. Harry could sense the serpent stirring behind the ancient stone, and he looked doubtfully at the wall. Did the snake mean for Harry to come _through_ the wall of the corridor to meet him? He'd better keep his handkerchief ready for that inevitable nosebleed, then, since these walls were made from very thick rock that would be rather excruciating to walk through. What _was_ behind the stone walls of Hogwarts, anyway? When Harry focused very hard, he could make out some sort of gurgling wet sound that sounded like plumbing. Harry wrinkled his nose a little. The inside of the school's plumbing was really not the nicest place to meet a new friend, but if that was where the snake lived, he supposed he would just have to brace himself, hold his breath, and use a little scrubbing magic afterwards.

But fortunately, the snake did not expect Harry to crawl into the Hogwarts plumbing. Instead, the serpentine voice shifted rapidly along the ancient corridors until Harry found himself at the entrance to a bathroom on the second floor.

*In here! Follow me in here!* came the serpent's voice. His voice was rather lovely, like a great wind rushing through dry leaves.

_Comingcoming, _whispered Shard excitedly. Harry pushed open the door to the bathroom, trying to ignore the diary, which was poking him rather sharply in the hip by now. What _was _going on with Tom today? He seemed terribly restless.

Harry glanced curiously around the large bathroom. He could see at once why the snake loved this room, since the frost-white marble and the gleaming silver taps were quite beautiful to look at. And some of the heavy old taps were even shaped like gleaming serpents! But where was his new friend?

Something stirred in the corner, and for a moment, Harry thought it was the serpent.

"Who are you?" whispered a small voice, and the misty outline of a girl fluttered toward Harry. She was as transparent as the Bloody Baron, and Harry realized that she must be a ghost. "Have you come to visit me?"

"Hello," said Harry and smiled at the ghost-girl. "I'm Harry. I'm just trying to find a big snake. Have you seen one around?"

The girl was apparently not very fond of snakes, for she began sobbing as if her heart would break. Harry rushed over to her and tried to give her a hug, but she was nothing but a chilly cloud in his arms. "There, there," said Harry soothingly. He tried to give her some of his cheering magic, and it appeared to work a little, for the girl's insubstantial form immediately turned a little more glittery and lost some of its grey glumness.

Poor Shard appeared to be afraid of ghosts, for he was hiding in the back of Harry's mind, very still, as if he were afraid that the girl would notice him and be... angry at him? Harry frowned. Shard really was funny sometimes.

*Down here!* came the serpent's voice from somewhere under Harry's feet. *Come into my secret chamber, child...*

"He wants me to come down _there_?" Harry glanced down.

"Don't!" wailed the mist-girl. "Oh, no, you mustn't go down there! That great rustling noise is the voice of _death_!"

Harry let go of the girl and patted her gently on her insubstantial arm. "The voice of death? Oh, no, that's just a snake. Don't worry - I'll be back in a little bit."

_*Open?* _breathed Shard in Snake inside Harry's mind. _*Open?*_

Harry looked down at the polished white floor and sighed. Marble. That was almost as hard as granite, wasn't it? This wasn't going to be pleasant. But if that was where the poor lonely snake was... Well, all right then! Harry pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and held it firmly against his nose. "Hang on tight, Tom! We are going through!" Harry focused all his magic downwards and stepped firmly through the floor.

It was pretty bad. The marble was frightfully dense, and Harry was gasping for breath as he emerged on the other side. To his surprise, he found himself inside a lovely torch-lit corridor that opened up into a vast underground chamber. This must be where the serpent lived! Harry wiped the blood quickly from his nose and glanced around.

There! Something vast and dark was stirring in the shadows, and a serpent of massive proportions slid into view. Its silver-green scales glittered beautifully in the torchlight.

*_Snake!* _Shard sounded very happy.

But Tom didn't seem nearly as pleased as Shard at the prospect of Harry meeting a new friend; he was making a terrible fuss in the pocket of Harry's robe, squirming and making the diary poke Harry hard.

*Hi!* called Harry in Snake, trying to ignore Tom's sulking. *I'm Harry, the one you spoke to in the corridors upstairs.*

The snake whipped around at the sound of his voice, and the massive head turned towards Harry.

*Over here!* Harry waved.

But at that moment, the diary in Harry's pocket did something very odd: It shook violently, tore itself out of his pocket, and fell to the floor with a thud. To Harry's amazement, a voice suddenly spoke in his ear: "Close your eyes, Harry! _Close your eyes!_" And a warm hand, a human hand, placed itself over Harry's eyes and shielded the snake from his view.

*_Look at me!* _The snake sounded a little offended. *Why are you not looking at me, child?*

But the unfamiliar human voice whispered in Harry's ear: "Don't look at the basilisk, Harry! For if you do, it will turn you to stone with a glance!" Harry had no idea who was speaking, and he squirmed away from the hand and turned his head around so he could see who his unexpected companion was.

He caught a brief glimpse of dark curls and a black robe, and something about the stranger seemed oddly familiar. "Excuse me, but who..." Harry's words were cut short by a great slithering noise that filled the chamber and echoed among the ancient walls.

Harry's unknown companion swore. "The basilisk is coming for us!" He shouted quickly in Snake: *Stay back from him, Serpent!*

*No. If you have brought him to me, I get to eat him.* The snake sounded rather moody.

*No! You can't hurt him!* The stranger's voice was shaking a little.

*_You_ speak Snake, too?* Harry asked his new friend, breathlessly. He turned at looked more closely at the interesting stranger. But that was... that was _Tom! _It had to be; Harry recognized the beautiful shadowy form from the diary, although the boy by his side was _real. _

"Tom! I can actually see you!" Harry was so excited about this that he wanted to hug Tom right away, but Tom seemed rather preoccupied with the snake.

*The basilisk is not obeying me.* Tom's voice sounded frightened. *We need a weapon of some sort if you are going to get out of here alive. The basilisk is hungry, and its gaze is deadly. Don't look directly at it, Harry!*

Harry peeked quickly in the direction of the snake through lowered eyelashes, taking care not to look straight into its eyes. The vast body was slithering over the rough stone floor, coming closer...

Poor thing! It must be so tiresome to have such a sharp gaze that all beings turned to stone before you! Harry felt very bad for the poor snake. He had heard of certain races of mountain trolls who had a similar problem with their gaze, and they usually ended up petrifying each other, leaving nothing but vast circles of curiously shaped standing stones behind.

Harry cast some quick Night and Mist magic in the direction of the serpent's head, and a weird hiss echoed through the chamber.

*What happened? I can't see!* The snake's voice turned into a horrible shriek.

Harry stepped forward and spoke gently to his new friend. *Don't worry, Mr. Basilisk. I didn't hurt you, even if your eyes feel a little funny right now. You will find that everything is actually much better this way. You will be able to see again in a moment, when your eyes adjust, but I have dimmed your vision a bit, so it won't turn anyone to stone.*

The serpent's head moved wildly to and fro, its enormous golden eyes - which Harry could now admire without being accidentally petrified - searching frantically for something. *I will eat you up! I will eat... I will rip.. Tear...*

*Oh, are you hungry, then?* Harry reached out and petted the hard greenish scales gently. *That's not surprising, actually. It's got to be hard to find enough food when you are this size...*

*I will eat _you_!* insisted the serpent.

Harry had to laugh. *Oh, no, Mr. Basilisk, I'm not food. And neither is Tom, of course. But if you hang on a minute, I'll find you some sausages or something - the Slytherin boys always sneak some up to the common room with them after lunch. Ron _always _seems to get hungry in the late afternoon, and Crabbe and Goyle as well. Oh, but I _do _have an apple in my pocket.* Harry produced the apple and handed it to the poor snake. The apple looked ridiculously tiny compared to the vast green serpent. *It's not a lot for you to eat when you are _this _size, of course, but if we just shrink you down a little...There!*

The next moment, the huge shape looming above them was gone, and in its stead, a pretty footlong snake stared up at Harry with golden eyes. *What... How did you get so big?*

Harry laughed and picked up the snake. *I didn't get bigger; you just got a little smaller, Mr. Basilisk. Here, try the apple - it should be a lot more filling now.*

The serpent hesitated for a moment, then gulped down the apple and looked hungrily at Harry's arm. It was a good thing Harry had dimmed the Basilisk's vision, or he might have had a little stony patch on his forearm right now! Or maybe the petrifying gaze only worked if you looked back with your eyes?

Harry turned to Tom with a smile. "Come on, Tom! Let's go get him some sausages. He still seems hungry."

But Tom just stood there for a long moment, staring at Harry with his wide silver-grey eyes. How curious that Tom, who was usually made of nothing but words, now suddenly seemed to be at a loss for them!

Finally, Tom breathed: "Look at you, Harry. Just look at you... You are standing there, you enchanted creature, in Salazar's own chamber, holding his dread monster in your arms." He ran a hand softly through Harry's hair and whispered: "And look at the basilisk, settling down in your embrace. The monster cannot resist your magic..." Tom leaned forward, and Harry felt a light kiss on the top of his head.

Harry smiled up at him and let Tom pet the little snake too. "Isn't he beautiful, Tom? By the way, how did you get out of the diary? You are not even a shadow right now; you are completely real. How did you do that?"

A perplexed expression passed over Tom's pale face for a moment. "I... I don't actually know, Harry. I have never done this before. It felt as if some irresistible magic was pulling me out to you the moment you were in danger... How very, very curious! I don't know what sort of magic this is; I have never encountered it before."

"Oh." Harry pondered this for a moment. "Maybe we should ask Dumbledore what sort of enchantment this is? He seems to know a lot about different sorts of magic. There might be a name for it." Harry noticed that Tom was beginning to flicker a little around the edges now. "If we knew what it was, you could come out of the diary as often as you wanted to."

"Ask Dumbledore?" Tom's lovely face was beginning to grow more insubstantial now, and his voice was fading to a slight whisper. "I don't know about that, Harry... I don't want him to know about the diary. I don't want anyone to know about me, except you."

"You don't?" Harry felt a little disappointed. He would have loved to introduce Tom to all his other friends, and to Leaf and Twig. "Oh, no - you are almost gone! See you in the diary later this evening, then, Tom!"

"I will be waiting for you." Tom's voice was only a slight breath now, and the last remnants of his form faded slowly into the shadows of the chamber.

...

"Oooh! What have you got there?" A small first-year student who had been skipping down the hallways skidded to a sudden halt when she spotted Harry and the basilisk. No one else was around, so Harry supposed that it must be time for afternoon classes already. But the little girl didn't seem to worry about afternoon classes any more than Harry did. He had decided to feed the basilisk first and get him properly settled in before heading to potions. He was sure Professor Snape would be very understanding about missing class for such a good reason. The girl stared, transfixed, at the basilisk, and for a moment, Harry was worried that he hadn't dimmed the serpent's vision quite enough. Oh no! His new friend hadn't petrified the girl, had he?

But no, the girl was just gazing at the basilisk in breathless admiration. Harry smiled at her. "He's beautiful, isn't he?"

The girl nodded. Her long curls, the color of a slightly mud-streaked daffodil, bounced around her shoulders. "Would you mind if I pet him? I've never seen an actual crumple-horned snorkack before, you see..."

"A crumple-horned what?" Harry stared at her.

"Snorkack." The girl petted the basilisk gently. He muttered a few bad words in Snake at first, but then the girl appeared to find an itchy spot on his neck, and the basilisk craned into her touch and fell silent. "They are frightfully rare. You are _so _lucky to have one!"

Harry examined the snake carefully. "Are you sure he's a crumple-horned snorkack? I don't see a horn anywhere."

"Of course not!" The girl giggled a little as the basilisk suddenly glared at her when she stopped scratching. "Ooh, his glance is sort of... _cold_, isn't it? How funny! Well, you can't usually see the horn of a snorkack because it's all _crumpled, _you see."

"Ah." Harry scrutinized the basilisk's horn-less head for a moment. "Well, that makes sense."

"I'm Luna, by the way," said the girl. "And I know that you are Harry, since everyone in school is talking about you. Is it true that you were raised by nargles?"

"I don't know." Harry pondered this for a moment. "I suppose that depends on what a nargle is. I was raised by my friend Leaf, who is a fairy, but I don't know whether he is also a nargle."

Luna looked gravely at him. "Is your friend afraid of radishes? Most nargles are."

Harry considered this. "I don't think he's afraid of them, exactly, but he _does_ find them a little spicy."

Luna beamed. "He might be a nargle, then. Does he ever steal people's shoes?"

"Of course not!" Harry was a little shocked at this outrageous suggestion. "Leaf is very polite. He never steals shoes."

"Hm." Luna frowned. "What about mistletoe? Does he ever infest mistletoe?"

"What?"

"Sometimes you find lots of tiny nargles in mistletoe. They like to sleep in it."

"Really? Well, newborn fairies do like to sleep among the mistletoe. Their parents put them there to keep them safe, since they are very tiny and the birds could easily mistake them for insects and swallow them. But the mistletoe has very prickly leaves, so all the birds and animals leave the baby fairies alone."

Luna nodded slowly. "I see. You were probably raised by nargles, then. How very interesting! By the way, what is your snorkack's name?"

"I don't know!" Harry suddenly realized that he had completely forgotten to ask his new friend his name. He petted the basilisk on the head. *Excuse me, what is your name?*

The snake peered up at him. *_Basiliscus Rex Serpentium.*_

"Oh, you speak Snorckack?" The girl's eyes lit up. "How wonderful! What did he say?"

"He said his name is...er... Basil, I think."

The girl gave a solemn curtsy. "An honor to meet you, Basil."

Harry smiled and went off to find Basil some sausages.

...

By the time Basil had settled down under Harry's pillow, it was time for Herbology, one of Harry's favorite classes. The teacher was a plump, jolly woman named Professor Sprout.

"Where have _you_ been?" asked Ron immediately as Harry pushed open the door to the greenhouse.

"Oh, I've been here and there." Harry decided that he would hold off on telling Ron about Basil until later. What a lovely surprise it would be for the other Slytherin boys when Basil peeked out from under Harry's pillow this evening!

"You missed potions." For some reason, Ron sounded a almost jealous.

"I know." Harry glanced around. The work tables were filled with pairs of fluffy earmuffs, even if it wasn't very cold outside. "I wonder why Professor Sprout gave us these?" Harry reached tentatively for a yellow pair that looked like two overgrown dandelions strung together.

Professor Sprout clapped her hands. "Listen everyone! Make sure you grab a pair of earmuffs! We will be repotting these little fellows today." She pointed at a row of lovely purplish green leaves sticking up from a bed of soil. "Who can tell me what these plants are?"

Harry broke out in a wide grin. "I know those! Mandrakes! Oh, this is going to be _so_ much fun!"


	12. The Mandrake's Prophecy

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**~The Mandrake's Prophecy~**

**Author's Note: **Thank you all so much for the reviews and comments! I can't believe I put Luna in Harry's class right after I had said that she was a first year! *forehead slap* Thank you to everyone who pointed that out. The previous chapter has been corrected.

In this chapter, we get to meet some mandrakes. The idea that mandrakes can predict the future is not original to this story; it is an ancient folk belief recorded in the Grimm Brothers' tale _Alraune_.

...

"Mandrakes!" Harry lit up. "How wonderful, professor!"

For some reason, Professor Sprout stared at him, her mouth slightly ajar. "Wonderful, Mr. Potter? _What_?"

Mandrakes were Harry's favorite plants - if they even _were _plants_, _which was of course a very controversial issue. Fairies were generally of the opinion that mandrakes were plants, as evidenced by the leaves on their heads and the fact that their language seemed to be an archaic dialect of Fern. The mandrakes, of course, disagreed strongly with this, and pointed out that they had two legs and could walk around if they felt like it, so therefore they were clearly related to fairies and humans. In fact, one of Harry's mandrake friends had the theory that humans and fairies had all evolved from particularly restless mandrakes who were too unfocused and lazy to put their roots down properly in some nice deep soil at the end of a long day. Before long, said Harry's friend, these poor mandrakes lost their connection to the earth altogether and began to live their entire lives aboveground, which was so stressful that their leaves fell out, and they turned into humans or fairies. Harry found the theory fascinating, although he wasn't quite sure it was accurate. Mandrakes were terribly clever about predicting the future, of course, but he wasn't sure they knew as much about the past.

"You need to put your earmuffs on, Mr. Potter," said Professor Sprout quickly. "The cry of the mandrake can be fatal to anyone who hears it. These are not fully grown yet, but still... "

"Oh, I wasn't going to make them cry," said Harry quickly. "Why would anyone do that?"

Professor Sprout blinked slowly at him. "What-? Listen, everyone. We are going to re-pot the mandrakes. You need to yank them out of the pot they are in and put them in a larger pot. They always cry when you do that."

Harry frowned. "Well, that's not surprising, is it? They probably don't like the yanking part. They like pulling their roots out nice and slow when they are going somewhere. Mandrakes just hate being rushed. Maybe we could just ask them nicely to walk into a larger pot?" Harry turned to a nearby mandrake, whose greenish-purple leaves were poking up from the soil. *Hello! I'm Harry. I am so sorry to disturb you in your restful state, but you seem to be getting a little squished in there. There are some larger pots over here, if you would care to move to a bigger pot.*

Professor Sprout stared at Harry. "Why are you making that peculiar sound, Mr. Potter? You sound like a rustling leaf."

Harry smiled. "Oh, I'm just talking to the mandrakes."

"_Talking_ to the mandrakes?" Professor Sprout just gaped at him.

*A bigger pot?* came a small leafy voice from deep inside the soil. *Sounds like an excellent idea; it's getting very crowded in here. Some of my brothers and sisters have rather sharp elbows, which makes it hard to get proper rest down here.*

*You are one to talk, Ththffth,* muttered another underground voice. *You can't sit still for more than a month without wriggling your toes and poking a fellow in the hip. If you keep squirming like that, you are going to Uproot For Good and become Human.*

A hush fell over the mandrakes for a long moment after this horrible prediction of doom. Then Ththffth whispered: *So, there are bigger pots nearby, you say? With good soil?*

*That's right.* Harry nodded, even though the mandrakes couldn't really see him, of course. *Professor Sprout has prepared some beautiful roomy pots for you so you don't have to be quite so crowded. Do you wish to see your new living quarters?*

A silence followed, and then there was a stir among the leaves, as if a faint wind had swept through the mandrakes, and a few small wrinkled faces peered cautiously out of the soil.

"The mandrakes!" wailed Professor Sprout. "Oh, no! Children, put your earmuffs on right away! Plug your ears!"

"But they are not crying, Professor." Ron was gazing at the small soil-smeared faces in fascination. "In fact, they are looking sort of cheerful." He swallowed. "We are not going to ... you know... _cut_ _them_ _up_, are we? My brothers said that they had taken Herbology before and... "

"Of _course_ not!" Harry was shocked. "I know your brothers say some strange things to tease you sometimes, Ron, but that's the most bizarre idea I've ever heard. Cutting up mandrakes! No one would do something like that. What a horrible thing to say!"

"Erm." For some reason, Professor Sprout was flushing bright red now. Then she emitted a small squeal. "Oh, good heavens! What are those mandrakes doing?"

"Walking over to their new pots, of course." Harry smiled. "They are ever so pleased with their new homes."

The children stared in silent wonder as the mandrakes climbed slowly out of the soil, stretched a bit and continued at a leisurely pace towards their new homes, humming a little rustling leaf-song to themselves as they walked.

*Thank you so much, my friend.* Ththffth bowed a leaf politely at Harry as he walked by. Then he paused and glanced at Harry in consternation. *Oh, no! You seem to have lost your leaves, sir. By the Soil, you look like one of the humans! So sad... Would you care for a prophecy to cheer you up?*

Harry shrugged. He didn't really have much use for a prophecy, but he didn't want to be rude, and he knew that mandrakes were very proud of their prophetic powers. *Sure, that would be very nice.*

*Ahem.* The mandrake fluttered his leaves impressively and cleared his throat. *Ready? Here we go:

_Hidden lies his wounded soul,_

_splintered through the darkest art._

_No charm or spell can make it whole,_

_except the magic of your heart.*_

*Oh.* Harry stood still for a moment, pondering the strange words of the Mandrake. Something about the verse - perhaps the part about "a wounded soul" - made him think of Tom, and of Shard. *Thank you. That was quite lovely.*

*Any time.* Ththffth rustled a bit, obviously pleased with the compliment. *You know, if you should ever feel the need to settle down a little, sir, there is a nice empty pot right next to mine...*

*I will keep that in mind,* smiled Harry.

...

Harry stayed after class for a bit, tending to Professor Sprout, who didn't seem to be feeling well.

"The mandrakes can _talk_," she muttered over and over. "And one of them stopped to greet you, Mr. Potter! And here I was, all these years, teaching the children that mandrakes were plants, to be used in potions!" A tear trickled slowly down her face. "Oh, Merlin help us!"

She looked so heartbroken that for a horrible moment Harry really began to wonder if there had been some truth to what Ron's brothers had said about cutting up mandrakes. He shuddered.

It took a bit of Cheering Magic to make Professor Sprout feel better, but by the time Harry left, she was petting the mandrakes' leaves tenderly and promising to look after them better in the future.

By the time Harry found his way back to the Slytherin dormitory, Basil had already decided to take the matters into his own hands (figuratively speaking, of course, since he didn't have any hands) and meet Harry's friends.

"There is a _snake_ in your bed, Harry!" Draco informed him the moment he opened the door to the dormitory. For some reason, he did not seem terribly pleased at this exciting news.

"He seems to be very found of sausages," said Ron, petting the little basilisk fondly on the head. "Friendly little fellow, isn't he?" Basil licked the last remnants of sausage grease off Ron's hand and hissed contentedly. Harry could see Basil's stomach bulging out at interesting angles, and he could tell that Ron had been very generous with the sausages.

"It's been hissing and carrying on as if it owns the place." There was a slight note of complaint in Draco's voice.

"Well..." Harry scratched Basil thoughtfully on the head, "I suppose that he _does _own the place, in a way. He said he used to belong to Salazar Slytherin, and this is the Slytherin dormitory, after all."

His words were greeted with a stunned silence.

"He used to belong to _Slytherin?' _Ron withdrew his hand quickly, much to Basil's dismay. "But Slytherin lived ages ago! Snakes don't live _that_ long, do they?"

"Oh, he's not a regular snake, Ron." Harry beamed at his friend. "He's a basilisk. I think they live for a really long time. I found him down in the Chamber of Secrets, next to the huge statue of an sad-looking old man with a beard."

"This is _Salazar_ _Slytherin's_ _basilisk_-?" Draco stared at Basil with something resembling awe now. "From the legendary Chamber of Secrets? Just... Just wait till my father hears about _this_! They didn't have anything like this in the Slytherin dormitory when he went to school!"

Blaise Zabini frowned. "But I thought basilisks were usually much larger than this, Harry. Are you _sure _he's a real basilisk? My second cousin's wife's ancestors used to have one in their dungeon, and I believe that theirs was quite enormous."

"Of course he's a basilisk!" said Harry eagerly. "Basil was a lot bigger when I found him, but I used some shrinking magic. I also dimmed his vision a bit so he won't turn people to stone all the time."

"Ah." Blaise looked rather impressed. "Too bad my cousin's wife's family didn't think of that. They had some casualties over the years, I believe."

*And too bad Salazar himself didn't think to use some of that Night and Mist Magic on my eyes,* chuckled Basil sleepily, curling into a ball. *Then we could have avoided that whole unfortunate accident.*

*Accident?* asked Harry curiously.

Basil rubbed his head lazily against Harry's hand. *Salazar was not a bad wizard, and he spoke Snake very nicely, but we had a little bit of a run-in one day. I said something about his friend Rowena looking rather tasty, and he took it completely the wrong way and started screaming at me. I informed him that I wasn't going to let some _human_ tell me what I could have for lunch, and one thing led to another. Instead of shrinking me down to his size, Salazar decided to use his magic to make himself _my _size, and we had a bit of a shuffle..." Basil sighed. "Too bad. I was rather fond of him, in a way, in spite of his absurd attachment to that female.*

*What happened, then?* Harry stared at Basil.

The basilisk squirmed a little, obviously ill at ease. *Well, it was an accident, more or less. You know how one's temper can run away with one sometimes? Well, the long and short of it is... I'm afraid the giant statue of Salazar Slytherin down in the Chamber of Secrets is... well, not really a _statue_.* He looked down. *I mean, who wouldn't _glare_ a little when someone turns into a giant and tries to attack you? I did feel quite bad about it for many years afterwards, although Salazar did have himself to blame for it, really. Erm... I would of course appreciate if you did _not_ mention that unfortunate incident to your Slytherin friends. Sort of embarrassing, the whole thing.*

Harry shook his head slowly. *All right, Basil. I won't say a word. But you _do _have to work on controlling that temper.*

...

As soon as all the other boys were asleep that evening, Harry pulled out his diary and began writing to Tom. At first, Basil was a little jealous and hissed a few nasty things at Tom, but when Tom explained that he himself was a descendant of Slytherin's and a great admirer of snakes, Basil began warming up to him. Harry had to translate what Tom wrote for Basil, of course, since the basilisk didn't read Human. But then Tom had the excellent idea of trying to write in Parseltongue, so both Harry and Basil could read it. As far as Harry knew, no one had ever tried to _write _in Snake before, and all the writhing chains of _ssssSsss_ looked very weird on the page. Before long, all three of them were laughing so hard that they had to use Silencing magic not to wake up the rest of the dormitory.

Hours later, as Harry was finally drifting off to sleep, with Basil wrapped around his head and the diary open across his chest, Basil hissed softly in his ear: *Your friend Tom is actually rather charming. Even if he does seem as strangely obsessed with you as Salazar was with Rowena...*

Harry was too sleepy to answer, so he just closed his eyes and smiled. For a moment, it almost seemed as if the diary was thumping slightly against his chest, as if a heart was beating against his own.

...

"So you missed potions class yesterday because...?" Professor Snape was staring blankly at Harry and ran a hand warily through his hair. Harry admired Snape's hair tremendously; it was black and smooth as a cormorant's wing.

Harry sighed and tried again: "Because I went to see if Professor Lockhart was all right after the pixies crashed through the window, and then I heard someone speaking Snake in the plumbing, and I walked through the marble of the misty girl's bathroom, and Mr. Malfoy's diary fell out, and the words became a beautiful boy with curls, and I shrank the basilisk and gave him an apple, only he seems to like sausages better. He's in the Slytherin dormitory now, resting."

Snape blinked slowly. "Mr. Malfoy is resting in the Slytherin dormitory?" He sounded very confused.

"No, the basilisk is resting in the Slytherin dormitory," explained Harry patiently. "But he is small now, so he will fit under my pillow."

Snape ran a hand over his forehead. He looked very tired. "There is a _basilisk _under your pillow?"

"That's right!" Harry beamed, relieved that the potions master was finally understanding him. "And he's very sorry about turning Slytherin to stone, but he wouldn't let him eat Ravenclaw, and he's got a bit of a temper."

Snape looked baffled again. "Eat Ravenclaw? I don't quite follow... Oh, never mind, Harry." He sighed deeply and muttered to himself. "I suppose you _are_ speaking the truth; even your blasted godfather couldn't have come up with a fib like _that..._"

"Godfather?" Harry was curious. "What's that, professor?"

Snape rubbed his temples as if the subject was almost too painful to contemplate. "A godfather or godmother is a person appointed by the parents to look after their child in case something left them unable to care for the child, a guardian of sorts. A godfather is supposed to watch over the child, protect him, and keep him safe. Most parents would naturally choose someone mature, stable, and sane for this responsibility, but your deluded father, for reasons no one will ever understand, instead chose his old school friend Sirius Black. Even their homicidal wolf friend would have made a better godfather than that! I have always wondered if James didn't imperius Lily to make her go along with such a preposterous suggestion. And then they even trusted Black with the secret of their hiding place..." Snape's voice sank to a whisper.

"I have a godfather called Sirius Black?" Harry looked up at Snape in wonder. "How wonderful! I have never heard about him until now. Where is he? I want to find him right away."

"You will not find Sirius Black," said Snape curtly. "That cruel villain is finally where he belongs, Harry. In Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" Harry loved the sound of the name; it sounded like an enchanted faraway land. "Where is that, Professor?"

Snape's pale face was emotionless. "Azkaban is a prison, located on a small remote island in the North Sea. Black is locked up there, and will remain there till the end of his days for what he has done. He was secretly devoted to Lord Voldemort, Harry, and he is the one who told the Dark Lord where to find your mother and father..." Snape's voice trembled. "He will stay there, imprisoned behind those stony walls, until the day he dies. Too bad, in a way. I would have liked to see him, just so I could tear him limb from limb." Snape got up abruptly and turned his back to Harry. Harry couldn't see his face, but he saw Snape's shoulders shaking slightly, as if he was crying silently to himself.

"Oh." Harry didn't know what to say, so he just patted Snape's back gently and left the teacher's office.

Harry's heart was hammering in his chest as he walked towards the Slytherin dungeon. He had a godfather! What a wonderful surprise! Of course he had Leaf, who would always love him like a parent, and Twig as well - but to imagine that there was another guardian out there, one who had been chosen by his fist parents! And this mysterious godfather seemed to love Voldemort, just as Harry himself did! Harry could feel something warm stirring in his heart, just thinking about Sirius Black. How he would love to meet him!

How strange, though, that Snape seemed to dislike him so! Oh, well - Harry was sure that he himself was going to like his godfather very much. But for some reason, Sirius Black was trapped somewhere, on a distant island. Harry realized that he had to go there right away and help his poor godfather.

He reached down and patted the diary in his pocket gently. "We are going on a journey, Tom!" he whispered excitedly. "To a distant place called Azkaban!"

Tom stirred moodily in the diary, and Harry could sense that for some reason Tom was not very thrilled about going to Azkaban and freeing poor Sirius Black.


	13. The Dementor's Kiss

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**...**

**~The Dementor's Kiss~**

**Author's Note: **Er... Happy Valentine's Day?

...

*Excuse me, do you know how to get to Azkaban?* Harry poked his head into the school owlery.

The owls were usually very good at giving directions, but for some reason, Harry's question made them terribly flustered.

*Azkaban?*

*Did he really say Azkaban?*

The owls began muttering and hooting among themselves. They rustled their feathers and puffed themselves up as if they had been caught in an icy draft of wind. Then they stuck their heads firmly under their wings. *We are _not_ bringing any letters there,* said a large Grey Owl in a muffled voice. *Not even if they are marked as _urgent._ Not even if they are from Dumbledore.*

*Or Merlin,* added a snowy owl.

Harry laughed. *Oh, I don't need to send a letter to Azkaban. I just need to go there and find my godfather.*

The owls pulled their heads out from under their wings and stared at him in a puzzled sort of way. A Great Horned Owl asked Hedwig, very earnestly, if Harry had spent so much time out in the noonday sun that it had addled his wits. Hedwig took offense at this and answered rather hotly, and the other owls gave small hoots of interest at the prospect of a good fierce debate.

*Ahem.* Harry tried to get their attention again. *Could you please tell me where Azkaban is?*

To Harry's relief, a friend of Hedwig's, a minuscule pygmy owl named Oooo suddenly piped up: *Azkaban? That dark fortress on the island? Oh, I know how to get there!*, and he immediately proceeded to give Harry very precise directions about which winds to follow across the North Sea. There was a great stir among the owls at that, and several of them asked Oooo sharply _why_ he was so anxious to send the nice human fledgling boy to his death.

Oooo fluffed his feathers indignantly. *I wasn't sending him to his _death. _Wooo - I beg your pardon, _Hedwig_ - told me all about her human friend's great magical powers; he is not like the other humans. He can even fly like a bird! And besides, I've got a godfather myself, and if _he _were anywhere near Azkaban, I would fly there myself and help him out! So there!*

There was a great deal of outraged shrieking and hooting at Oooo's foolhardiness, but his godfather, a pygmy owl only slightly larger than Oooo himself, just flapped his wings in silence, overcome by emotion at his godson's devotion.

Harry and Hedwig took advantage of the general confusion to slip away from the owlery very quietly. On his way down the stairs, Harry noticed that something seemed stuck in his hair, and he tried to brush it off.

*Careful, sir!* squeaked Oooo. *It's just me. I decided to come along in case you need more precise directions as you travel. Don't want you catching the wrong gust across the North Sea! They all tell me I'm too small to carry letters, but a chap has to make himself useful in one way or another, right? I mean, what if you or Miss Hedwig find yourselves in danger, or blown off course? I'll come along and protect you!* Hedwig shook her head a bit at the tiny owl, who was not much bigger than an egg, but she didn't say anything.

Harry smiled and tucked the little owl into his pocket, next to the diary, and he heard Oooo introduce himself eagerly to Tom. Hedwig settled down on his shoulder. *Come on, then, everyone!* whispered Harry. *Let's fly to Azkaban!*

...

Azkaban was just as lovely as Harry had imagined that it would be.

At first, he saw nothing but the endless dark waters of the North Sea, stretching away to the distant horizon, and he wondered if Oooo had remembered the location right. But then Harry's glance fell on an indistinct darkening, right where the grey-black sea met the pale sky, and he knew that it must be Azkaban. As he flew closer, he saw a vast, rugged shape rise out of the white-capped waves. It was a stone building, so rough and dark that it almost seemed to have been fashioned out of the wild black waters themselves. It was built on an island, but the heavy walls stood right at the water's edge, and it looked as if the fortress had risen straight out of the sea. The whole place had a stark and solemn beauty about it that sent a small shiver down Harry's spine.

He looked around for some friendly sea-birds who could tell him where his godfather might be inside this vast fortress, but strangely, there were no birds to be seen.

*Maybe we should go home now,* suggested Hedwig suddenly. She seemed a little nervous.

*Of course not!* exclaimed Harry. *The place is big, but I'm sure we will be able to find Sirius Black if we just look closely. Oh, look - there are some birds we might ask for help!*

Hedwig peered up at the dark shapes that had suddenly appeared near the fortress. *I don't think those are birds, Harry.* She sounded worried.

*Oh, I remember now!" came a tiny voice from Harry's pocket. "There are supposed to be some strange flying creatures around here. I forgot about that. Now, what were they called-?"

Harry squinted at the distant figures. Were they just clouds, after all? No, they were shaped like giant birds, but their forms seemed to have unraveled a little at the edges, and dark shadows were trailing behind them. *Maybe you are right, Hedwig. They are not birds. They fly sort of strangely; I've never seen birds move like that."

The dark shapes were coming closer now; they were probably quite curious to see who the visitors to this distant place were.

"Hello!" Harry waved at them. "I'm Harry." He wanted to introduce his friends as well, but Hedwig had hidden inside his cloak now, and Oooo suddenly burrowed deep in his pocket next to the diary. "Ouch! Watch those talons!" muttered Tom indistinctly.

The shapes fluttered closer, and Harry saw that they were neither birds nor clouds, but strange and beautiful creatures made up of dark shadows that trailed through the chilly mist.

"Hello!" said Harry again, but the shadow-creatures did not respond. They merely swirled around him, closer and closer, until Harry was almost completely surrounded by wisps of dark shadows. Out of nowhere, the memory of the unfortunate Quirrell, reduced to a pile of dust on the floor, arose in his mind, and his eyes filled with tears. _Poor, poor, Quirrell! _

Harry shook his head slightly. Why was he remembering Quirrell's death so vividly right now, of all times? He knew that he would never forget the poor teacher, but right now he really had to focus on finding his godfather.

Harry peered around at the dark shapes. "Excuse me, would you mind moving aside a bit? I'm looking for my godfather. Have you seen him? His name is Sirius Black."

The shapes dances wildly around him, but they didn't say anything. Harry got the distinct impression that they wanted something from him, but he didn't understand what. Maybe they couldn't talk? "Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked politely.

He could sense a ripple of confusion running through them now, but they were still too shy to say a word. A few of them fluttered up and peered intensely at Harry's face, but then they just sighed a little and floated away again. The creatures were rather odd to look at up close, although they did have a strange alien beauty of their own. They didn't really have very distinct faces, just shadowy features of the sort you might imagine seeing in a cloud. But they were clearly alive, for there seemed to be a curious longing in all their movements, as if they were searching and hungering for _something _that they couldn't find.

"Talk to you later, then!" said Harry pleasantly, and the creatures floated silently, almost reluctantly, aside to make way for him as he flew up to the walls of Azkaban.

The walls looked _very _thick indeed, but Harry was beginning to get the hang of walking through stone by now. He was even able to help Hedwig and Oooo through as well, even though they both squeaked rather miserably as they passed through the heavy blocks of granite.

"What?" A bedraggled-looking lady leapt to her feet as soon as Harry entered the small room on the other side of the wall. "Who are _you_?"

The room was very plain, without any furniture or pictures to distract you from the stark loveliness of the dark stone itself. To Harry's surprise, there were no windows, although you could still hear the mournful sighing of the sea outside.

"I'm Harry," said Harry politely and shook the lady's pale hand.

"Are you a follower of the Dark Lord?" Her voice was hoarse. For some reason, she grabbed Harry's arm and yanked his sleeve up. "No, no Dark Mark."

"The Dark Lord? Oh, you mean Voldemort?" Harry beamed at her. "Are you a friend of his, too? No, I didn't follow him here, but I did bring him with me." He meant, of course, that he had brought the diary with Tom in it, but the lady stared at something over Harry's shoulder, as if Voldemort was standing right there.

Harry glanced back curiously. Oh! Tom really _was _right there! He was just as human as he had been down in the Chamber of Secrets, although he did look a little pale. When had he decided to come out of the diary again? He must be getting better at this sort of magic! Harry reached for his hand and squeezed it. "Tom! I'm so glad I can see you!"

The lady just gazed at Tom's dark curls, an expression of confusion in her large black eyes. "Who is _he_? There is something in his face that reminds me of... No, that cannot be..."

For some reason, Tom seemed equally confused. "Druella? Druella Rosier? Is that you?"

"Druella Rosier was my mother," said the lady hoarsely. "She is long dead now."

"Yes, of course." Tom thought for a moment. "Yes, she would have been quite old by now, of course. We went to school together, ages and ages ago... You really do look very much like her, although I also see a hint of the Black family in your features."

_Bella, _whispered Shard suddenly in Harry's mind. _Bella! A little mad, Bella, but loyal... Nice Bella._

"Excuse me," said Harry politely to the nice lady, "I am looking for my godfather, Sirius Black. Have you seen him?"

The lady named Bella just stared at him. "Your godfather-? But Sirius' only godson was that blasted infant the Dark Lord couldn't kill... The one who made the Dark Lord himself vanish!" A strange glint came into her eyes, and suddenly she leapt at Harry, her thin fingers closing around his throat. Oh, poor thing! She really must be a little bit mad.

*She's attacking Harry?* A small feathery ball of rage sprang out of Harry's pocket and landed on Bella's head. *Go for her eyes, Hedwig! I'll peck at the right one if you take the left!*

"_Don't touch him!" _There was such fury in Tom's voice that Bella's hands released their grip on Harry's neck and fell limply by her side. She stared at Tom as if she had seen a ghost. "My... My Lord? It _is _you! You have come for me!" She suddenly sank to her knees in front of Tom, sobbing. "You have come to free me! I always knew you would!"

Oooo and Hedwig, beaks positioned in front of Bella's face, paused in confusion.

Tom frowned. "What-?" He stared at Bella and shook his head slightly. "Sweet Merlin, I swear she is crazier than all the Blacks put together! She'll even give Walburga a run for her money! Listen, I am here to help my friend Harry find Sirius Black. If you _dare_ to harm Harry, I will kill you on the spot. Oh, why wait? I might just do that anyway, for attacking him like that!"

"Sirius Black?" Bella didn't even get up from the floor; she just cowered before Tom. She nodded at the wall. "Behind that wall, My Lord. The dog is in the next cell. Please forgive me, My Lord."

The dog? Harry was puzzled. His godfather had a dog? How wonderful! He stepped curiously through the wall. And sure enough - there was a lovely black dog in the next room, crouched by itself on the chilly stone floor!

The dog lifted its head sharply as Harry came in and stared at him with large black eyes. *James?* whispered the dog suddenly. *Oh, sweet Merlin, I have gone mad at last! After all these years, I have finally lost my mind!*

Harry petted the dog gently on the head. *Hello. I think you've got me confused with someone else. My name is Harry, not James.*

The dog stared at him for a long time. Then it said: *_Harry_? Lily and James' Harry? But they said you were dead! And... and you speak _Dog_...?" He shook his head. *No, this is just a terribly strange dream. It _has_ to be.* Harry looked more closely at the shaggy creature before him. He was a perfectly ordinary sort of black dog, with mangy fur and kind eyes, but there was something about him that seemed a little... off.

And suddenly, Harry understood: "Oh! You are a human wizard! Just like that rat on the train!"

The next moment, the dog's shape began to flicker and change, and a tall, thin man with long black hair stood before Harry.

Harry looked up at him in wonder. "Are you my godfather?" He reached out eagerly for the man's thin bony hand.

The man stood still for a moment, just staring at Harry. Then he suddenly shivered. "Oh, Merlin, you _are_ Harry, aren't you? Still alive! But what are they doing, throwing _children_ in Azkaban!" He gave Harry a quick hug. "This is no place for you. We must find a way to get you out of here. Are you an animagus as well, then? We should be able to use that to our advantage."

"Animagus?" Harry had never heard the word before.

"You can transform into a dog, just like me?" explained Sirius, a little impatiently.

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. I wish I could, though, so we could play together as dogs! That would be fun, wouldn't it?"

Sirius looked very confused. "But you spoke like a dog before..."

Harry shrugged. "Oh, that! I'm just good with languages."

Sirius laughed, a strange hollow sort of laugh. "Good with _languages? _Oh, Merlin, now I've heard everything! Great. How are we going to get you out of here, then, Harry?" His glance traveled frantically over the thick walls. "Wait, how did you even get in?"

Harry pulled at his hand. "Come on, I'll show you." He tugged Sirius gently through the wall, taking care to protect him well against nosebleeds as they walked through the heavy stone. He was really getting better at this!

"What the hell just happened?" Sirius glanced back at the wall in wonder. "Did we just walk _through_ that?"

Bella was still lying at Tom's feet, whimpering slightly and promising never to offend him again. Tom just stared at her, as if he didn't know what to make of her. "Oh, good. You've got Black, Harry. Let's leave as soon as possible, then. This place makes me nervous. And so do the other prisoners, quite frankly."

"Who are _you_?" Sirius stared at him blankly. "You seem familiar..."

"Friend of Harry's," said Tom quickly. "Let's leave. Now!"

"There are dementors out there." Sirius' voice was shaking a little. "Hundreds of them."

"Oh, is that what they are called?" Harry smiled up at his godfather. "They seem very shy."

"_What_?"

"I said hi, but they didn't want to talk."

Sirius shivered. "Listen, Harry. Do you know how to produce a patronus?"

"A what?"

Sirius put an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Of course. You are still too young for that sort of magic. Listen to me very closely. If we manage to break out, the dementors will come for us. I will try my best to fend them off, but if they get too close, remember to close your mouth, all right?"

"Close my mouth?" Harry stared at his godfather. "Er... Why?"

Sirius brushed the hair gently out of Harry's eyes. "Because those monsters will try to kiss you, Harry. And a dementor's kiss will suck your very soul out of your body." His voice sank to a whisper. "Just keep your mouth closed, whatever you do."

"Is _that_ what they want?" Harry pondered this startling new information. "A kiss?" He knew that the dementors had wanted something, of course, but he would never have guessed what it was. "Do they always try to kiss people, then?"

"The ones they can catch, yes." Sirius was trembling again. "Listen, Harry. You did some strange magic before that allowed us to walk through the wall of my cell. Can you do it again, to get us out of this prison?"

"Of course!" Harry took Sirius' hand in his. "Hang on tight!"

"What about me?" wailed Bella. "You can't leave me here!" She gazed up at Tom, pleadingly, but Tom wasn't even looking at her.

"Of course we won't leave you!" Harry sent a shower of magic towards the wall, and the bricks began to crumble. "Is there anyone else stuck in here?"

Bella stared at the shattered remnants of the wall, her eyes wide. "The... the other followers of the Dark Lord."

"All right then! Let's get them, too! Stand back!" Harry swept down one wall after the other, and pale, haggard prisoners soon emerged from the ruins of Azkaban, coughing and spitting dust. "There! That should be everybody!"

Bella gazed out at the wild black sea. "You... You seem to be a powerful wizard, child. And perhaps on the Dark Lord's side, after all, it seems, since you have freed his servants. But how will we all get across the water?"

Harry shrugged. "Make a boat, I suppose, since not everyone can fly?" He called forth some driftwood from the water and used his best Creating Magic to shape it into a passable boat.

"Watch out! The dementors are coming!" Sirius's voice was hoarse.

Harry gazed up. Those poor dementors! There was just one more little thing he had to do before leaving Azkaban...

"What are you _doing__?" _called Tom in alarm as Harry lifted off from the ground. "Get back on the boat, Harry!"

"Oh, I'll be right back!" Harry smiled down at him.

The dementors were drawing closer now, circling over the makeshift boat and the pale shivering prisoners. But as Harry flew up to to meet them, they shrank back a little, as if bewildered.

Far below, both Sirius and Tom were yelling something, but Harry couldn't make it out.

"No need to be shy!" said Harry softly as he approached the dementors. "I know what you want now. Come here, then!" He reached out for the nearest dementor and grabbed the floating black cloak with both hands. An expression of alarm passed over the shadowy face, and the dementor yanked its head back.

"It's all right," said Harry gently. "Don't be bashful." And he leaned forward and kissed the dementor very, very softly. The creature froze, and for a horrible moment, Harry wondered if he had killed it. But then it fluttered a little, and to Harry's amazement, it began to change. It was still dark and shadowy and fairly indistinct, but now there seemed to be a different quality to its shady outline, a faint glimmer of something that resembled starlight.

"There!" Harry smiled at the dementor. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it?" He petted the lovely dementor on the cheek and returned to his friends below, who were looking terribly pale in the gathering twilight. Far up above, the other shadowy forms were gathering in a circle around the dementor Harry had kissed, studying it from all angles and brushing their long wispy fingers over its faintly glittering robes, as if in wonder. Slowly, ever so slowly, a few of the dark creatures put their faces hesitantly together, as if they were trying to kiss each other too.

"Oh, sweet Merlin!" Sirius gave Harry a tight hug. "Are you insane? Didn't you listen to anything I told you? A dementor can suck out your soul!"

"It didn't, did it?" Tom sounded very frightened.

"Of course not!" Harry smiled reassuringly at them both. "It didn't take any part of my soul, but I _gave_ it a tiny bit; people always do give each other a small piece of their soul when they kiss. That's what the fairies always say. But there is always more than enough left."

Sirius buried his head in his hands. "You... freaking... kissed... a dementor!" A groan, and then a chuckle of laughter escaped him. He glanced up, and his gaunt face suddenly looked like a boy's. "You _kissed _a dementor, Harry, and now they are all kissing each other... Not even James could have come up with something like _that_! Your father would have been so proud of you!" He grinned broadly.

Harry beamed up at his godfather. "Please tell me more about my father, Sirius."

"Oh, I will!" Sirius ruffled his hair fondly. "I will tell you all about your father and the Marauders!" He frowned suddenly. "Oh, by the way, what was that you said before, back in the cell, about a rat?"

Harry smiled. "Oh, that was a strange story, Sirius! See, this is what happened..."


	14. Dog Days

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**Chapter 14: Dog Days**

**Author's Note: **I apologize for my very long absence; I had some personal dementors to fight off. But I'm back now, and able to update regularly again. I also apologize for not responding to reviews for a while. But please know that I have read and treasured them all, and that they helped cheer me up during difficult times. Thank you so much!

...

"Mr. Potter! Back from a leisurely stroll through the Forbidden Forest?"

To Harry's delight, the familiar figure of Professor Snape was waiting at the entrance to Hogwarts. For some reason, Snape was looking a few shades whiter than usual. Oh, dear! He wasn't getting sick from breathing all the strong fumes down in the dungeon, was he? Perhaps he needed to get outside in the sun more often.

"The entire school staff has been searching for you for hours, Mr. Potter," said Snape in a muffled sort of voice. "Strangely enough, they were under the impression that the school rules that explicitly forbid the students to leave the Hogwarts grounds without permission also applied to The Boy Who Lived."

The shaggy black dog by Harry's side glared at Snape and gave a menacing growl deep in his throat.

Snape glanced rather nervously at the dog and took a quick step back. "Sweet Merlin, what _is _that? Have you befriended Mrs. Norris' boggart? Why are you accompanied by this flee-bitten mongrel, Potter? Surely, you are not intending to bring that mangy animal into the castle?"

The dog snarled, bared its teeth and looked hungrily at Snape's pale throat.

Harry beamed. "Oh, he's not really a dog, Professor. He's my godfather, Sirius Black."

"He's... _what?_" Snape froze. For a long moment, he just stood there in the gathering twilight, staring at the beautiful dog, apparently too overcome with emotion to speak. Harry was quite touched that his reunion with his godfather affected the potions master so deeply.

Sirius flickered lazily into human form, and Snape drew a long trembling breath. Sirius tossed a wild black curl out of his eyes and regarded Snape with a little smile. "Why so pale, Snivellus - are you not happy to see me?" He spoke Human in a very friendly sort of way, but Harry noticed that there was still something in his voice that sounded a bit like a dog.

Snape suddenly sprang into motion. With one fluid movement, he flung himself in front of Harry while whispering hoarsely: "Run, Harry! _Run_! This is the man who betrayed your parents to the Dark Lord! Run away from him, and I will deal with this _dog_ as he deserves." Snape pointed his wand at Sirius with an unsteady hand. "Cru-crucio!"

The spell didn't seem to have any effect, and the professor looked down at his wand in annoyance. "I _mean_ it! _Crucio,_ dammit!"

Sirius merely raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Forbidden curses a little rusty, Snivellus? You surprise me. I would have thought you had them down pat by now, after all these years as a death eater."

"Whatever," muttered Snape and flung his wand aside. "I can rip you apart with my bare hands if that's what it takes, Black!"

"Oh, don't get your little grey knickers in a twist, Snivellus!" Sirius spat on the ground right by Snape's feet.

Harry sighed. His poor godfather really had a very hard time making friends, didn't he? Snape's normally pale face was flushed with rage now, and the two men glared at each other like wild animals about to fly at each other's throats. The potions master was a little prickly at times, of course, but Harry remembered that Sirius hadn't even been very pleasant to his delightful old friends from Azkaban. Harry had had to use some very strong magic to keep Sirius from getting into a shuffle with the other released prisoners on the boat ride back from Azkaban that afternoon. For some reason, Sirius had not been at all happy to recognize people he knew among the ragged prisoners. He was rather rude to the nice lady named Bella, punched someone named Mulciber in the eye, and even tried to throw the charming Lestrange brothers overboard. It had taken some of Harry's most powerful cheering magic to get them all to settle down. And here Sirius was again, apparently ready to get into a fight with the nice potions master!

"Excuse me!" said Harry firmly. "There will not be any fighting. Please try to get along."

"Harry!" Snape sounded very agitated. "Didn't you listen to anything I told you? This man, Sirius Black, is a murderer and a traitor! He sold your mother and father to the Dark Lord! _He _is responsible for their deaths!"

Sirius took a few steps closer to Snape and growled in a distinctly dog-like way. He lifted his arm and looked ready to strike Snape down with a single blow. But Harry's magic held him back, and Sirius could do no more than spit furiously in the potions master's general direction. Snape was also held nicely in place by a little shot of fairy magic.

"You think _I _betrayed Lily and James?" roared Sirius. It wasn't me, you fool! It was Peter! Peter Pettigrew! I just learned from Harry that the little rat is still alive, after all. It was _he _who sold James and Lily to Voldemort, you moron, not me. _He _killed those Muggles and faked his own death! Just wait till I get my hands on that treacherous little coward!"

_"What?"_ whispered Snape. His face was ashen now. _"Peter Pettigrew?_ No, impossible - he is dead!"

Harry shook his head. "Oh, no, he's not, Professor. I met Mr. Pettigrew on the train, you see. He used to be my friend Ron's rat, but unfortunately I scared him away."

"He used to be Mr. Weasley's _rat_?" Snape looked baffled. "I don't understand what you are saying, Potter. You are not making any sense."

"Peter is an animagus, you idiot," cried Sirius. "Surely, even you must have heard of them. Didn't you see me transform a moment ago? We were all animagi, James, Peter, and I, while Remus..." He broke off suddenly.

"Oh, please. I know about the blasted werewolf," said Snape irritably. "I'm not as stupid as you seem to think, Black."

Sirius' grey eyes flashed. "And yet you seem to believe that I was capable of betraying my very best friend in the world and his wife and child to Voldemort!"

Snape's black glance lingered on Sirius' face. He seemed to be searching for something in the other man's gaunt features. "You would not be the first member of the Ancient and Noble House of Black to choose the Dark Lord over family and friends," he said icily.

Sirius flushed angrily. "Oh, Merlin, you prejudiced bastard! I can't _help_ being born into the hoary and inbred clan of the Blacks. But I am not like them! James was my friend. And... and I loved James! How could I ever have done anything to harm him? I loved _him_ as much as you loved _her; _were you really too blind to see that?"

Harry couldn't help smiling to himself. How wonderful that his poor parents had been so loved by their friends!

"What?" Snape stared at Sirius. "You _loved_-? Oh, this is absurd. You don't even understand what the word means, Black. Don't talk to me about "love". James Potter was just your friend, your comrade in mischief, while I loved Lily with all my heart and soul."

"As I did James." Sirius' voice was a hoarse whisper.

For a long moment, the two men stared at each other, tugging a little at the magic that kept them apart. Then Snape said, very quietly: "You _loved him? _Are you joking? Sirius Black and James Potter were in _love?_"

Sirius' face flushed dark red. "James never loved me back, Snape. Not like that. I was just a friend to him. He loved _her, _not me. And even though it was anguish to know that I could never be more than his friend, I would rather have his friendship than nothing."

Snape studied Sirius' face intently for a moment. Then he said, a slight tremor in his voice: "I know _that_ feeling, Black. But to think that you, of all people, the handsome and popular Sirius Black, would be familiar with this sort of pain..."

A sudden grin lit up Sirius' haggard features, and his grey eyes glittered. "What?" There was a note of derision in his voice. "You thought I was handsome? Well, well, _well,_ Snivellus! You are a man full of surprises, aren't you?"

Snape said quickly, a hectic blush brushing over his pallid cheeks: "Everyone _said_ you were handsome, back when we were in school; it is not a matter of personal opinion. Now, back to the point: Peter Pettigrew is still alive? Are you certain of this, Harry? If that is the case, I suppose you must have been framed after all, then, Black. In some ways, it is not terribly difficult to believe that Pettigrew would betray his friends; he was always such a sneaky little fellow. I never cared much for him. It seems that we have a common goal, then, Black. Much as I dislike you - and, believe me, I _do,_ with all my heart_ - _ it seems to me that we must pool our resources in order to find your missing rat friend and bring him to justice."

"He is no friend of mine," began Sirius hotly. But then he sighed and nodded. "You make sense for once, Sni- Snape. Let's find Peter and make him pay! Harry said Peter jumped off the Hogwarts Express; he could be anywhere by now. But I have an idea how we might find him. I once had a rather wonderful map that was very useful for finding people. It is long gone now, but with the right spellbooks and a little time, I might be able to create a new one. The one I made as a boy showed the whereabouts of everyone at Hogwarts, but I dare say it would be possible, with some more advanced magic, to create one showing a far greater area, perhaps all of Britain. Perhaps one could put a spell on the map to send some sort of signal when Peter is spotted."

Snape nodded curtly. "Good. It is a plan, then. I will assist you in any way I can in the creation of this map if that will help us find Pettigrew. You will have the entire Hogwarts library at your disposal, including the Restricted Section. Where shall I bring the books you need? I don't suppose you will be staying at Hogwarts while on...er... _leave_ from Azkaban?"

Sirius frowned. "Ah, yes. About that, Snape. I am afraid the Ministry of Magic may be wanting to escort me back to what remains of Azkaban. Long story... You will no doubt read all about it in the papers tomorrow. For now, I had better remain hidden until Peter is found. The Ministry will be sure to check my gloomy ancestral home when they discover me missing, so I find myself in need of a place to stay. You don't happen to have a spare dungeon at your disposal here at Hogwarts while we work on creating that magical map, do you?"

Snape sighed deeply. "I don't suppose I have much choice in the matter if we are to catch that blasted rat. You can stay hidden in my quarters until further notice, Black. If anyone should come in, kindly assume your... er... non-human form. As far as anyone is concerned, you are my new dog. And you will, needless to say, sleep on the _floor!_"

"Of _course_ I will," said Sirius and winked cheerfully at Harry. "You will see that I make an excellent and affectionate pet, Sni-Severus. James always thought so."

Snape looked coldly at him. "_Professor Snape _will do very nicely, Mr. Black. No need for any sort of familiarity between us."

"Of course not," said Sirius gravely. "_Sir."_

Even though both men still sounded a little snarly when speaking to each other, Harry decided that it was safe to ease up on the fairy magic that bound them. He released them both gently, and to his relief, the men did not attempt to start another fight; they merely glared a little at each other, like two wolf pups who were done biting each other for now.

Snape turned to Harry. "Since you are responsible for bringing Mr. Black here, Potter, you will be my official dog-walker from now on. I will send you a message whenever I need him out of my sight for a few hours, which will probably be quite often. You will have my permission to take the dog on _long_ walks, including into the heart of the Forbidden Forest. Just let him roam in there as much as he wants, as long as you are sure that you are protected by your fairy magic."

Harry beamed up at the potions master. "Thank you so much, Professor! You are so very kind!"

...

There were all sorts of excited whispers at the breakfast table the next morning; apparently the news of the poor prisoners leaving Azkaban had spread fast.

"Blimey!" muttered Ron, chewing his toast pensively and leafing through a newspaper. "A dozen death eaters broke out of Azkaban yesterday! It is rumored that some powerful dark wizard - maybe You-Know-Who himself - is behind it all. The Ministry attempted to interview the guards who were on duty at the time of the incident, but since the language of dementors is not well understood, officials had to rely on sign language to communicate with the Azkaban staff. As far as they could gather, a massive wingless bird with black unruly feathers on his head swooped down from the sky, entered the prison, and blew it up from the inside by means of dark magic. He then proceeded to attack the guards by _biting _their faces, inserting some unidentified venom into them that left them incapacitated." Ron shuddered. "Oh, Merlin! Sounds terrifying! A monstrous wingless bird! I wouldn't want to meet that Dark creature! Pass the marmalade, will you, Harry?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it, Ron." Harry handed his friend the marmalade. "Some things get lost in translation."

...

Harry enjoyed his daily walks in the Forbidden Forest with his godfather very much. Sirius loved to talk of James, and he told Harry all sorts of interesting stories about their adventures in school.

"How are you getting along with Professor Snape?" asked Harry a few weeks later, a little worried about the two men sharing quarters while working on their map. They weren't fighting, were they? For some reason, Sirius' cheeks reddened.

"Oh, I suppose we get along all right, Harry. Severus likes to talk about your mother, and he is quite happy to find someone who is willing to listen. Somehow, he finds it easier to talk to me when I'm a dog, so I often stay in that form when he talks about Lily. But when I talk to him about James, I turn human again, of course. He's not a bad listener, actually. And he does know what it's like to lose someone you love... "

"He doesn't _really _make you sleep on the floor, does he?" asked Harry with concern. To his great relief, Sirius shook his head.

"No, Harry. In the beginning, he did, but more recently... Well, no need to go into any of that." He swallowed. "Snape is a rather lonely person, Harry. Sometimes, I think it is a great comfort to him to have some company. Some warmth in the darkness of the night. As long as I'm just a dog, and as long as he can forget that I'm Sirius Black. And strangely I don't really mind; Azkaban was so terribly lonely..." He swallowed. "Does Snape ever talk about me to you, Harry?"

"Of course!" Harry smiled up at his godfather. "He talks about you a lot."

"Does he?" Sirius' voice was a whisper. "What does he say, then, Harry? Is he still angry with me? I... I wasn't always very nice to him when we were in school, you see. Just silly pranks, mostly, but he might still feel some resentment..."

Harry stopped to pick an interesting patch of moss that was growing near an old oak tree. "Professor Snape asks me to make sure that you get enough fresh air. He is even suggesting places in the forest that you may enjoy visiting, such as the lair of the acromantulas, or the nesting grounds of the blood-sucking bugbears. It's very thoughtful of him, of course, but personally, I try to stay away from bugbears. They are a little cranky unless they have just eaten."

"Right. Of course." Sirius swallowed. "The nesting grounds of the blood-sucking bugbears. Yes, that's very thoughtful of him indeed."

Harry hugged his godfather. "Oh, I do wish you didn't have to be a dog all the time when you are at Hogwarts! I would love to have you meet all my friends and talk to them when you are human. If only you could teach here at Hogwarts!"

"Professor Sirius Black?" Sirius laughed out loud. "Now that would make the portrait of my ancestor Phineas Nigellus fall from the wall in sheer shock!"

"Well, they will hire a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher again in the autumn; maybe you should apply? Professor MacGonagall has been filling in for Lockhart all term; he never really recovered after being frightened by the pixies."

But Sirius shook his head. "I don't think the headmaster would ever hire me as a Hogwarts professor, Harry. I think he remembers me too well as a student, and I'm still on the run from the Ministry. But I did send an owl to an old friend of mine and suggest that he apply here. His name is Lupin, and I think you will like him a great deal."

Harry smiled. "I do look forward to being in third year! Hermione told me that we will have all sorts of interesting new classes, such as Ancient Runes and Divination. Divination sounds like so much fun! I can't wait to learn how to predict the future!"

Sirius laughed and patted Harry on the head. "I predict that you will blow every one of their crystal balls to pieces, Harry."


	15. Tea With Trelawney

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**Chapter 15: Tea with Trelawney**

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for all the encouraging reviews!

...

"You've grown over the summer, Harry!" Sirius gave Harry a warm hug. "How was the forest?"

"Wonderful! Basil was a little testy at first because I wouldn't let him eat any of the woodland mice, but he did enjoy Twig's apple pies. I wish you could have come too, Sirius!"

Sirius ruffled Harry's hair fondly. "Another time, Harry! But look at this: While you were gone, Severus and I made a great deal of progress on the map. As it turns out, he is quite good at this. Your potions professor really does make quite a talented marauder. Oh, look - I made him blush! Show Harry the map, Severus! It will only be a matter of weeks now before it is complete. And then we will be able to find that little rat. Perhaps we should introduce him to Harry's friend Basil."

"Throw the rat to the basilisk? An intriguing idea, Sirius." A shadow of a smile passed over Snape's face. He unrolled an enormous piece of parchment. "This is a magical map of all of Britain, Harry. If Pettigrew is in this country, Sirius and I will find him."

"Perhaps Remus can help us with the last few parts," mused Sirius. "Then we will be able to finish this faster. I miss working with Remus."

For some reason, this suggestion did not seem to please Snape at all. A slight flush crept up his pale neck now. "I'm not certain it would be wise to include another person in our work at this advanced stage," he muttered. "And we will be finished soon enough, anyway. I am sure Professor Lupin will be very busy with his classes and his... er... hobbies. I assume he still likes to go for walks in the _moonlight?_" He spoke, Harry noted, as if he didn't care very much for moonlight.

Sirius looked up from the map in surprise and gave Snape a frosty stare. "You just _had_ to bring that up, didn't you? Still out to get the old Marauders in trouble! Some things never change, do they, _Snivellus_?" He shook his head, and his mouth set in a firm line. "You greasy bastard!"

Snape flushed angrily. "No, apparently things do not change, Mr. Black. Much as we would like to pretend otherwise."

The two men glared at each other for a moment, before bending back over the map in silence, scanning the inky landscape for a sign of Peter Pettigrew.

...

Harry looked around the Divination classroom in wonder. What a lovely room! It was decorated with sparkling crystal spheres, flowing fabrics in all sorts of interesting colors, and deep, comfortable armchairs.

"We must have wandered into someone's sitting room by mistake," whispered Harry to Ron. "Look, this room is set up for a tea party, not a class!"

But at that moment, a thin cricket-like voice came out of the shadows:

"Welcome. How nice to see you in the physical world at last." A curious human fluttered out from behind a heavy velvet curtain and beamed at the students. She was dressed in some sort of trailing fabric and draped with scarves and strings of tinkling beads, and she sounded like a bubbling stream when she walked. "Sit, children!"

The students sat, hesitantly, in the armchairs that were placed around small round tables. The lady introduced herself as Professor Trelawney, and explained that they may not have seen her before, since she usually preferred to remain in her tower rather than come down to the Great Hall for meals.

"All the hustle and bustle down there," she said in a dramatic whisper, "disturbs my Inner Eye."

"She has an Inner Eye?" Harry gazed at the lady in fascination. He knew that many animals had inner eyelids, of course, like cats - but a whole inner eye? Where was it? Harry stared at Professor Trelawney, but he could only see two regular eyes in her face, no matter how hard he looked. Did she really have a third one on the inside? Behind one of the others, perhaps? How terribly interesting! Not, of course, that there was very much you could _do_ with an inner eye; eyes really worked better if they had a proper view of the outside.

"Be warned: If you do not have the Sight, there will not be much I can teach you in this class," sighed Professor Trelawney. The students glanced nervously at one another.

"Do you... er... have the Sight?" muttered Ron to Harry under his breath.

Harry beamed. "Of course I do! My eyes were a little weak when I was a baby, but Twig strengthened my eyes so I would stop tripping over the squirrels. I've got very good Sight."

Professor Trelawney must have realized that her students were still a little sleepy at this hour of the morning, for she immediately instructed them to pour themselves cups of tea and drink them. Harry was very touched by her thoughtfulness. He _was_ a little thirsty, actually, although the tea in the large silver tea pots was a little too sweet for his taste.

Behind him, Harry heard Draco whisper to Blaise Zabini: "Oh, for Merlin's sake! This tea is not even Darjeeling. I predict that I will be bringing my own tea to class in the future."

"Now, gaze into your cups," instructed the professor, "and tell me what you see in the tea leaves."

"There's something in the tea leaves?" Harry poked his dregs curiously with his spoon. "No, I don't think so. There's nothing in here, except a little bit more tea if you squeeze the leaves hard."

"She means what sorts of patterns do you see in the tea leaves, Harry." Ron consulted his course book. "Your leaves are supposed to look like a cross, or a sun, or something. It's a way of foretelling the future. I suppose fairies are brilliant at reading the future?"

Harry shrugged. "I've never seen any if them try. Fairies like to be surprised. But I suppose we will learn some interesting things in this class, even if predicting the future is a little bit like peeking at the end of a book before you have finished reading it." Harry peered into his cup again. "Let's see... My leaves are shaped like... leaves, I think."

"Oh, dear." Professor Trelawney paused next to Harry and Ron, and she shook her head in apparent sadness. "I am afraid not everyone has a gift for the noble art of Divination. You really _must_ try to broaden you mind." She reached for Harry's cup and peeked into it. "What? Oh, no! Oh, _no_!" She gave a small anguished cry, and the other students glanced up from their cups with interest.

Professor Tralawney put the cup back on the table with a thud and clutched at her chest. She was looking rather ill all of a sudden. "Oh, you poor child! You poor, poor child! You have... the Grim!"

"The Grim? What's that?" asked Harry curiously.

For some reason, the professor trembled little. "It's an omen, a sign of terrible things to come in your future... My dear boy, it is a sign of DEATH!"

"Really?" Harry looked doubtfully into his tea cup. He didn't really see how you could die from drinking tea, unless the tea was tainted.

"What? Death?" Ron was looking a little scared now. "Are you... are you sure about that, Professor?"

Trelawney nodded. "I am afraid so, yes. See that outline of the dog? It can mean only one thing, I am afraid..." She was shaking so badly her beads began to make little melodies of their own, even if she was standing in one spot.

"Don't worry, Professor," said Harry soothingly. "Look, I'll make the dog go away if it bothers you!" He used his spoon to swirl the tea leaves around. "See, now there is a nice wolf instead." He patted the professor gently on the arm. "Does that make you feel better?"

Professor Trelawney froze. "What... what in Merlin's name did you just do, child?"

"I made the Grim vanish, since you didn't seem to care for it," explained Harry patiently, "and now there is a wolf in my cup."

Professor Trelawney blinked slowly. "But you can't... you can't just change the leaves! That's just... preposterous! Oh, dear. I... I don't know what to say... In all my years as Professor of Divination, I have never..."

The professor was looking distinctly unwell, and Harry whispered to Ron: "I think she is coming down with something. She seems very pale, and her gaze looks feverish."

"Oh, don't worry, Harry," breathed Ron back. "I think that's just her Inner Eye crying a little bit."

...

Harry took an immediate liking to the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin. He seemed very cheerful and kind, although his class was a little odd.

Professor Lupin made the students stand in front of an old cupboard, and then each student had to open the door and see what they could find in there. There were all sorts of lovely things in the magical cabinet: A beautiful large spider, a human hand that could walk by itself across the floor, a very enthusiastic banshee, and a strange human wrapped in white cloth. For some reason, the professor wanted the students to change each of these wonderful creatures into something else. Harry was a little puzzled by the whole thing, but it was all quite entertaining. Some of the students were a little nervous when their turns came. Ron's freckled face had taken on a slight greenish tint; perhaps he was worried about doing magic in front of so many people. But Ron clutched his wand and tried to change the spider into something funny, as Professor Lupin had instructed him to do. But unfortunately, Ron only managed to knock the poor creature's legs off, and the spider rolled helplessly around on the floor for a few moments.

"Your turn, Harry!" The professor gave Harry a friendly nod. "No, wait, perhaps you shouldn't..."

Harry ran over to the cupboard and opened it. What sort of interesting creature would he find in there? But to Harry's great disappointment, the cabinet seemed to have run out of magical creatures. Harry waited patiently for something to come out of the cupboard, but nothing happened. Bewildered, Harry stuck his head into the cupboard, but it was completely empty, except for a little dust.

"Oh, no! There's nothing in here, Professor!" Harry struggled to conceal his disappointment. "I'm afraid there are no more creatures left. Perhaps they have all been used up."

"There's nothing _in_ there?" The professor stared at Harry. "What in Merlin's name-? How can _that_ be?" He peered curiously into the cupboard. The next moment, he leaped back, face white.

To Harry's amazement, a tiny full moon floated out of the cabinet and hovered brilliantly above the students.

"Ri...Ridikkulus," whispered Professor Lupin, his voice suddenly hoarse. The moon gave off a last glimmer of silvery light, turned into a balloon and dashed back into the cabinet. Harry blinked. This really was the strangest magic he had ever seen!

"I think that was enough for today. Class dismissed." Poor Lupin sounded quite tired and out of breath all of a sudden. For some reason, he was speaking with a faint trace of Wolf accent now. How very odd! "Harry, could I have a word, please?"

"Of course, Professor." Harry felt bad. He was usually quite good at magic, but this particular assignment was apparently a lot more difficult than it looked. "I'm so sorry I couldn't find anything in there. I really _did _look..."

Lupin frowned. "What? Oh, I'm not blaming you for not seeing the boggart, Harry. On the contrary; seeing the cupboard empty is not a failing, but a great feat. Apparently, you have no fear at all. I am just a little concerned, since fear is... Well, unpleasant as it is to feel afraid, there are times when our fear protects us from getting ourselves into mortal danger. A complete lack of fear is... quite dangerous." He looked more closely at Harry. "Surely, there must be _something_ you fear, Harry? I had half expected your boggart to turn into Lord Voldemort, the man who killed your parents. There are rumors that he may not be completely gone, even now. Aren't you even a little bit afraid of _him_?"

"Of Voldemort?" Harry gazed at Lupin in wonder. "Why would I be?" For a moment, he wondered if he should tell the kind professor that he actually had a piece of Voldemort's soul inside a diary in his pocket at that moment, but then he remembered that Tom wanted their friendship to be a secret for now.

"Why would you be afraid of Voldemort? Because he will harm you, Harry." Lupin spoke very gravely and earnestly. "Look, I know you are brave, as brave as your father and mother were, but there are many dangers in the world we live in, and perhaps you would be wise to worry about them. We all worry, Harry - and for a reason! I can't tell you how long I agonized when I received an anonymous letter by owl, telling me that the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts was open. Perhaps it was all a trap, devised by Voldemort himself, or one of his servants, like Sirius Black. You must have heard of Black, Harry? Sirius Black, the man who betrayed James and Lily to Voldemort, has somehow managed to escape from Azkaban. I'm afraid Black could be anywhere by now, perhaps even here at Hogwarts. Rumor has it the Ministry of Magic even considered sending dementors, the dread guards of Azkaban, to Hogwarts, in case Black shows up here. But unfortunately, the Ministry seems to have had some issues with their dementors lately. For some reason, the dementors have begun to act erratically, call in sick for work or sneak off in the middle of the day in groups of two... Some dark curse has affected them, no doubt. The point is, Harry, Black could be here, within the walls of Hogwarts!"

"Oh, he is!" Harry beamed up at Lupin, remembering that Sirius had spoken of him as a very dear friend. "He has been hiding in Professor Snape's quarters, actually."

"Snape is hiding Sirius Black?" Lupin turned a deathly pale. "How... How do you know this, Harry? Oh, never mind! We must get you to safety right away! Sirius Black is a murderer!"

Harry shook his head. "Oh, no - that was Peter Pettigrew. He was the one who betrayed my parents as well."

Lupin just stood there for a moment, completely frozen. "Peter... Pettigrew? No, I must have heard you wrong. What did you say, Harry? I didn't quite catch what you were saying."

Harry looked at the professor in concern. His Wolf accent was becoming more pronounced now, and he seemed to have a hard time understanding Human all of a sudden.

*Peter Pettigrew betrayed my parents and murdered people,* repeated Harry patiently in Wolf, hoping that this would help the poor Professor Lupin understand him a little better.

Unfortunately, Lupin seemed to have an equally difficult time grasping what Harry said in Wolf. He staggered backwards, sweat beading on his forehead. *What did you say?* he rasped in Wolf. Then he continued in whispered Human: "Oh, Merlin, I must be hallucinating! For a moment there, I thought you spoke..."

*Wolf?* supplied Harry helpfully.

Lupin stared at Harry. *Harry-? Oh, what is this? You are speaking Wolf? Oh, God! Were you bitten as well?*

*Bitten?* Harry felt puzzled. This conversation had taken a rather curious turn. *No, no one bit me. Why would they?*

*But you speak like a wolf,* said Lupin slowly. *How can that be, if you were not bitten by one?*

Harry blinked. *Oh, I just learned Wolf from speaking to my friend back home who is a wolf. But he is very polite and never bit me in the slightest.*

Lupin still looked dazed. *Your friend-? Well, be that as it may, Harry: What did you mean before when you said that _Peter_ _Pettigrew_ was the betrayer? He is supposed to be dead!*

*Oh, no, he's alive! And that's why Sirius and Snape are trying to find him on the map, because they are rather angry with him for being a rat.*

Lupin sank down in a chair behind his desk, his face still pale. *Oh, Merlin! So Sirius is innocent, after all! I should have known! Oh, I should have known! How could I ever have doubted him! Not Sirius, but Peter! Yes, that does make a great deal more sense, doesn't it? And Snape... is he really helping Sirius? Or just pretending to? They did not get along so well when they were in school together...*

*Let's go see them!* Harry tugged at Professor Lupin's hand.

*All right!* Lupin nodded, although he still looked a little confused. *Sirius and Severus, working together to catch Peter! We'd better make sure they don't kill each other, I suppose.*

"Oh, they won't," said Harry quickly. "They snarl a bit at each other sometimes, but they do get along quite well when they are working on the map."

But as it turned out, Harry was completely wrong. Sirius and Snape were not getting along well at all. For when Harry and Lupin opened the door to Snape's quarters, the first thing they saw was Snape attacking Sirius! The potions master was tearing furiously at Sirius' clothes, ripping them apart with his hands! And Sirius was growling deep in his throat and moaning as Snape was biting at his neck. Both men were flushed and breathing hard, and there was something wild and strange in their eyes.

"Hey! You-" Harry was trying to tell them to stop, but Lupin clamped his hand firmly over Harry's mouth and dragged him quickly out of Snape's rooms.

"We have to help them!" exclaimed Harry as Lupin closed the door behind them.

For some reason, Lupin was smiling a little. "Harry, I don't think Sirius and Severus need company right now. In fact, I think they would very much like to be alone."

"But they are not getting along!"

"No, Harry, they seem to be getting along just fine." Lupin regarded Harry thoughtfully. "I think we need to have a little talk, you and I. It seems that there are some aspects of life that you are not yet quite familiar with. Let's find a quiet spot on the grounds and have a little chat."

"All right..." Harry was very puzzled, but he followed Lupin outside. For some reason, the diary was stirring in his pocket now. It seemed that Tom wanted to have a talk with Harry as well.


	16. Birds and Bees

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**Chapter 16: Birds and Bees**

**Author's Note: **I am touched and humbled (and amazed!) by the number of reviews for this fic. Thank you, everyone! I will do my best to write a story that lives up to your expectations. Please don't hesitate to leave me reviews with constructive criticism as well. Like all you other writers out there, I am here to learn the craft of writing through trial and error. If something in my stories is not working for you, please let me know! I must admit that I was a bit disheartened this week to find a long rant devoted to my Harry/Tom fic "Surrender" on tumblr. I think the authors have some valid criticisms of my work (as well as some slightly puzzling ones), but I do wish they had told _me_ about the issues they saw, instead of ranting about my story anonymously off-site. To quote my all-time favorite artist, Michelangelo: _Ancora Imparo _("I am still learning").

**Warning: **This is an M-rated fic, and it's starting to heat up. Nothing explicit until Harry is of age, though.

...

"So, Harry," began Lupin gently, "seeing your reaction to seeing Professor Snape and Sirius Black together, I think it is safe to assume that no one has yet told you about... er... the birds and the bees?"

Harry glanced up at the professor, puzzled. "Bird and bees?" For the life of him, he couldn't see why Lupin was changing the topic like this. "My friend Leaf, who raised me, told me a lot about both birds and bees, actually. I do speak several dialects of Bird, and I can also get by in Bumblebee, although I am told I still have a bit of a fairy accent. I am also quite familiar with their customs and habits."

Lupin gave Harry an odd sort of look, and a smile tugged a little at the corners of his mouth. "Hm. Well, yes, I see, Harry. Actually, I didn't want to talk about the lives of birds and bees in general, but rather about their mating habits. You have grown up in a forest, I am told. Surely, you must be aware that animals mate with each other?"

_Mating! _Shard sounded quite happy in the back of Harry's mind. _Nice._

Harry nodded. "Yes, of course! Otherwise, they would die out, wouldn't they? Now, about Snape attacking Sirius..."

Lupin closed his eyes for a moment. "Listen, Harry, what I am trying to tell you is that Snape wasn't really attacking Sirius, but rather... well, _mating_ with him. Like, you know... the birds and bees." He flushed a little, and then he opened his eyes and peered up at the sky. "James, you are going to owe me for this," he muttered under his breath.

"What?" Harry stared at Lupin, horrified. "Snape and Sirius were _mating_ like the birds and bees? Oh, _no!_" Mating like a bee struck him as a rather dangerous thing for humans. Coupling in flight like a honey bee, with the male's genitals snapping off at the end? Creating offspring that, if female, would try to kill all the other newborn females? And mating like a bird didn't sound a whole lot better, although it would depended on the type of bird in question, of course. Some birds, like robins, were very gentle with each other when mating. There was usually a lot of singing involved, and then a few seconds of rubbing against each other, sort of like a quick kiss of their bodies. Quite lovely, the whole thing! But there were birds that were far more frenzied and less polite in their mating, like ducks, who occasionally pecked each other's eyes out. And phoenixes! Since phoenixes only mated once every five hundred years or so, things tended to get quite a bit out of hand when they finally did. Oh, no! Harry _really _hoped that wasn't what Snape was doing to his godfather! Harry swallowed. "So, do humans mate more like ducks or like robins, then?"

_Dull robins_, interjected Shard randomly. _Ducks are better._

For some reason, Lupin just stared at Harry blankly. "More like ducks or robins-?" He sighed. "Listen, Harry, perhaps we need to start this conversation over again. Perhaps you know too much about birds for this metaphor to work. Just forget the birds and the bees. That's just an expression that humans use to talk about mating because... Actually, I'm not sure I know why. The point is that it appears that Professor Snape and Sirius Black are in love with each other and... well, attempting to mate. And naturally, they would like some privacy while they do so."

"Oh." Harry pondered this for a moment. "So two human males can mate with each other, just like two male phoenixes do on occasion?"

Lupin smiled a little. "Like phoenixes? Er... I suppose so, although I can't say that I have much knowledge of phoenix mating habits."

"That's probably a good thing, Professor. My friend Twig once happened upon two phoenixes mating, and he said he never thought about feathers the same way again, and he was jumpy around fire for about a year."

_Hot, _whispered Shard. _Burning fire... _

Lupin smiled and shook his head a little. "I think we should all be very grateful that Fawkes appears to be a bachelor, then. Listen, Harry: The majority of human males prefer to find a female companion and produce offspring, but there are some who are attracted to a male mate, and some who are fine with either. Like Professor Snape, apparently."

"And flatworms," added Harry helpfully.

"Flatworms?" Lupin blinked. "You think Professor Snape is like a _flatworm_?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, not entirely, of course. But flatworms are also very open about choosing a mate. Actually, flatworms are quite open-minded about who they are, too, since they are both male and female at the same time, which is probably not true of Professor Snape."

Lupin squeezed his eyes shut. "Harry, there are certain images one does not need..."

"Anyway, when two flatworms begin to mate, they point their stiff male parts at each other and fight, sort of like a sword fight. The winner gets to insert his male part into the other flatworm."

"Ah." For some reason, Lupin's face was turning rather red now. "That's... interesting."

_Sword fight! _Apparently, Shard found this interesting as well.

"Is that what human males do as well?" asked Harry curiously. "Like Professor Snape and Sirius?"

Lupin buried his head and his hands and groaned. "Erm... I'm not sure I want to think about that, Harry, if you don't mind. A sword fight... Oh, Merlin! Let's try to keep this discussion abstract, shall we?"

"So how _do_ humans mate, then?"

Lupin drew a deep breath. "Okay, I suppose Lily and James would have wanted me to explain this all to you... Well, Harry, when two human beings love each other very much, they may begin to court each other, by being kind and attentive to the other person, giving gifts, and so on."

_Gifts? _Shard sounded a little outraged at this. _Courting? _

"And sometimes they just snarl at each other instead, like Professor Snape and Sirius?"

Lupin smiled a little. "Or, on occasion, they just snarl at each other, yes. Then, when they are ready to mate, they kiss each other and then they remove their clothes."

"Why?"

Lupin sighed a little. "Well, to get closer to each other. And then they touch and caress each other all over, and the male inserts his... er... member into the womb of the female, or, if the other partner is male, into the - oh, Merlin, I'm going to obliviate myself with this talk is over - the... body of the one he loves."

_Arse, _supplied Shard helpfully.

Lupin swallowed. "And then he leaves his seed, which is sort of like pollen..."

"Like pollen?" Harry glanced down his own body in consternation. Perhaps there really _was _something to the mandrakes' theory that humans had once been more like plants?

Lupin flushed. "Not like actual pollen, of course. I mean... Just like bees... With their stingers... Oh. Merlin. Perhaps this is why I never married and had children. To avoid conversations like this. Surely, there must be some illustrated volumes in the Restricted Section that explains this better than an awkward bachelor could..."

"So you don't have a mate?" Harry felt a stab of pity for poor Lupin. "I can help you find one, if you want. Do you prefer human or wolf?"

"What?" Lupin looked a little stunned. "Human or wolf? Oh, Merlin, Harry, you can't think I would even consider... doing _that_ while a wolf! To an _animal_?" He shuddered. "Erm, much as I appreciate your offer, Harry, I have reconciled myself to remaining single. Being both human and wolf makes me quite different, and I don't think it would be possible to find anyone who would make a suitable partner for a creature like me, who is both man and beast."

"There are no other man-wolves? Or woman-wolves?" Harry felt terrible for the poor lonely teacher.

Lupin grimaced. "None that I would consider mating with! Listen, Harry: Did you grasp the gist of what I was telling you here?"

"Erm, I think so..."

"Good." Lupin looked terribly relieved. "Very good, Harry. In that case, I think you should head in for tea. Your friends are probably waiting for you. I think I myself will go in search of a very large glass of brandy."

Harry nodded and ran in to join his friends for tea. He peered curiously around the Great Hall, but he did not see Professor Snape anywhere. He was probably still busy pollinating Sirius Black.

...

That evening, Harry told Tom all about the curious conversation he had had with Professor Lupin. Tom was listening in silence for a while, but then Harry noticed a slight fluttering of the pages of the diary. He felt a slight breath against his cheek, and he looked up and saw that Tom had become quite visible again. He sat down next to Harry on his bed, and his bright silver eyes lingered on Harry's face.

"Hello, Tom!" Harry reached out for him in delight. He was thrilled to feel Tom's hand in his own, quite warm and real now.

"Hello." Tom squeezed Harry's hand gently. "Are you all right? Not too shocked about the strange new things you have learned today?"

Harry stared at Tom for a moment in wonder. Then he exclaimed: "Tom, you _knew! _You knew all these things about humans and their mating all along, didn't you?"

Tom nodded silently, a slight flush on his cheeks.

"Then why didn't you tell me before-? I'm sure you could have explained it better than Lupin; he seemed a little flustered and confused."

Tom played absently with the fringe on the bedspread. "Tell you? No, you were too young to know about these things, Harry. Perhaps you still are. You don't really need to know until you are a little older, like me... "

Harry looked at Tom, a sudden strange idea entering his mind. "Tom? Have _you_ ever mated with anyone?"

_Feels good... _whispered Shard's voice suddenly in Harry's mind. _Feels so good... _

Tom flushed bright red. "What? No! I did kiss Abraxas Malfoy once or twice, but that's all... It wasn't all that great."

_Nice,_ argued Shard. _Wet. _

The image of Tom kissing a boy with long golden hair flickered into Harry's mind, and suddenly he was not at all sure he agreed with Shard that the kiss was nice. Something about it struck Harry as terribly wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Harry stared down at the diary, where Tom's words intertwined with his own. "I wonder how it would feel for a human to mate with someone," he whispered. "Lupin never did quite explain that part. I wonder if it feels more like the coming together of robins or ducks."

"Robins," breathed Tom softly into Harry's ear.

_Nononono,_ whispered Shard._ Phoenix._

_..._

_"Harry!" _Lupin whispered eagerly. "You've got to come! Sirius and Severus have found him! They have found Peter Pettigrew on the map!"

"Really?" Harry hurried along with Lupin to Snape's rooms. "How exciting! I know they were dying to see him again."

When they arrived in Snape's quarters, they found Sirius and Snape gazing intently down on the map. Their faces were still a little flushed, but they seemed a lot friendlier than before.

"We found the rat!" exclaimed Sirius. His hand grazed, almost imperceptibly, over Snape's. "See, Remus? He's right _there_!" He pointed triumphantly to a spot on the western side of the map. "And not only that - see who is with him!"

Remus bent over the map. "Peter Pettigrew! Yes, there he is! Right next to..." His voice trailed off, and he looked quite pale all of a sudden.

"Right next to _Lord_ _Voldemort_," said Snape quietly. "It appears that Peter has found his master again, no matter what Lord Voldemort's form may currently be."

_Peter... _Shard sighed a little. _Oh._ _Him. _

"Peter Pettigrew is with Voldemort?" Harry reached down and touched the two little dots on the map. "They are friends, then?"

"So it appears," said Snape through gritted teeth. "Just wait till I get my hands on him..."

Remus frowned. "Where _is _this place, anyway? The Forest of Westernesse? I have never heard of it." He studied the map.

"_What_?" Harry glanced down at the map again. "Is that where they are, Peter Pettigrew and Voldemort? In the Forest of Wersternesse?"

"Do you know that name, Harry?" asked Sirius sharply.

Harry nodded. A strange sense of foreboding lay heavily on his heart now, like a stone. "Yes, I do. I have never been there myself, but I have heard Leaf and Twig tell of it often enough. That's where The Faerie Queen lives, the most powerful fairy of them all." His finger grazed the map. "And look, there she is right now, talking to Lord Voldemort..."

"I... I take it it would not be a good idea for us to rush over there and try to grab Peter, then." Snape's voice was shaking a little.

Harry shook his head. "No. Not a good idea at all. Your magic would be powerless against hers, Professor Snape, and mine as well. And she does not take kindly to those who associate with rebel fairies."

Snape nodded slowly. Then he turned to Remus and Sirius. "Gentlemen, I think we need a new plan."

_..._

"That was a great Care of Magical Creatures class!" Ron's eyes were shining as he was walking back to school with Harry and Draco. "I loved flying on the hippogriffs!"

"It was all right, I suppose." Draco had actually enjoyed himself as well, after Harry was able to clear up a slight misunderstanding between Draco and a lovely grey hippogriff, who for some reason had taken offense at Draco's remark that he looked like a chicken. But Harry had been able to explain to the hippogriff that Draco was probably just a great admirer of chickens, and the hippogriff was slightly appeased.

"All right? It was brilliant!" Ron beamed, and Draco couldn't help smiling as well.

"All right, Weasley. It was bloody brilliant."

"Oh!" Harry suddenly stopped in his tracks. Something small and shiny was lying in their path. "Someone must have dropped this!" He bent and picked up a lovely golden watch from the grass. "I think this is Hermione's. I've seen her wear it before."

"Probably dropped it while running off to her next class, as usual," mused Draco. "She's been looking awfully tired lately. Maybe all these classes on magic are a little much for someone who is Muggle-born."

"Hey!" Ron glared at him. "She's our friend! And she is a lot better at magic than the rest of us, except Harry of course."

Draco gave him a cold glance. "Sticking up for your _girlfriend_, Weasley? A pure-blood wizard like you dating a Muggle?"

"She is not my girlfriend!" snapped Ron. "But if she were, it would be none of your business. And for the record, that _Muggle_ is loads better at magic than you are."

Draco flushed angrily. "Watch it, Weasley! I'm just trying to teach you how pure-blood society works - something you seem to know very little about."

Ron's blue eyes narrowed. "And I'm trying to teach you how friendship works - something _you_ seem to know very little about."

The two of them glared at each other for a moment. Then they both stomped off in silence in the direction of the school.

Harry glanced after them with a sigh. Why couldn't his friends seem to get along? Hermione was great at magic, even Draco knew that!

Harry turned the watch over in his hand. He had never seen another quite like it. It didn't seem to have any hands for telling time; instead there was an intricate clockwork that swirled when you turned the dial. Harry gave the dial a little spin. Hmmm, it seemed to have gotten stuck. Perhaps the watch had been damaged when it fell in the grass? Oh, no! Hermione would be so sad if her lovely watch had stopped working. It didn't seem to be possible to turn the dial more than three times. But surely, it took more than that to wind up a watch?

Harry gave the swirling clockwork a little nudge with his magic, and to his relief, this helped the dial come unstuck. The mechanism spun and twirled frantically under Harry's fingers, and he grew a little dizzy, just watching it.

Harry glanced up. How strange; he knew that it was still early afternoon, and yet the brilliant sunlight seemed to have faded a little. Deep blue shadows, as of evening, were lingering over the Hogwarts grounds now. It seemed as if something in the very air had changed, for Harry could sense the scent of flowers now, a whisper of lilacs...

Lilacs? But lilacs didn't bloom in autumn, did they?

Harry glanced around in confusion. There was no one about on the grounds at this hour, except for a boy in school robes who was sitting under a tree by himself, his head bent.

_Tom?_ Harry stared at the boy. Yes, it was Tom! Out here on the Hogwarts grounds, on this curious evening-hued autumn afternoon that smelled so much like spring...

Why was Tom wearing school robes? And why did his face look so sad? There was something about him that Harry did not understand, something wild and strange and sorrowful.

Harry stepped closer. "Tom?" he said softly.

The boy looked up, startled. The familiar quicksilver eyes met Harry's gaze. For a moment, they just looked at each other. Then Tom whispered: "Who are you?"


	17. The Boy and the Morning Star

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**Chapter 17: **

**The Boy and the Morning Star**

**Author's Note: **This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend **Lexen**, who writes so beautifully about the darker side of human nature. Please check out her amazing stories at www . fanfiction u / 3894936/Lexen (remove spaces from web address) including "The Other Side of Evil", which features an intriguing dark!Percy.

This chapter is less lighthearted than some of the previous ones, but I will try to make up for that in the next chapter!

**...**

"Tom?" Harry stared at the boy. "Don't you know who I am?"

The boy looked terribly puzzled. "What? Where did you come from? You weren't here a moment ago. Did you just apparate onto the Hogwarts grounds? That shouldn't be possible!"

"Apparate onto the grounds? Oh, no, I wouldn't do that! It's one of the rules that Dumbledore is very picky about, and I don't want to upset him. I was just walking back from class."

Tom's bright silver gaze lingered on Harry's face. "But you called me "Tom"... How do you know my name? Do we know each other from somewhere? I don't think we have ever met. No, wait, there _is_ something about you... Something almost familiar, although I am certain I have never seen you before. Who _are_ you, and how do you know who I am?"

Harry sat down next to Tom in the grass. "I am your friend, Tom."

"My friend?" There was a new look in Tom's eyes now, something guarded. "I have no friends, and I don't remember you." His eyes swept over Harry. "Is this some sort of trick? You are wearing Slytherin robes, so you should be in my house. But why have I never seen you in the common room, or at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall? Are you new at Hogwarts?"

Harry shook his head, gazing at the other boy in wonder. How could Tom have forgotten him?

"If you have been here at Hogwarts all along, why have I never seen you before? I would have remembered seeing someone like you, with that curious scar and eyes as green as... as the flash of the _Avada _curse." A slight shiver ran through Tom's body.

_Avada,_ whispered Shard in Harry's mind. _Father. Father didn't want me. Avada Kedavra._

"Don't you remember, Tom?" Harry was beginning to wonder if Tom was unwell. "We know each other from your diary. You write to me there, so I can read your thoughts."

Tom scrambled to his feet and stared at Harry, white-faced. "My diary? What do you mean? How do you know about my diary? Oh, Salazar, have you been reading it?" He fumbled frantically in the pockets of his school robes, and to Harry's astonishment, Tom pulled out the familiar diary. How did _he_ get the diary? Harry thought he had left it in his own pocket, as usual. Somehow, the old book looked different in Tom's hands; the leather was smoother and newer, and the gold letters on the cover were gleaming.

Harry reached, puzzled, into his own pocket, and his fingers closed around the familiar volume in there, ragged and worn. How could they _both_ have Tom's diary? Tom hurriedly put his newer diary away.

Harry gazed at Tom in wonder. And the more he looked at the other boy's lovely pale face, the more he realized that there was something different about his friend. The boy who stood in front of him was Tom, the familiar boy from the diary, and yet something about him was utterly different. He was quite young and dressed like a schoolboy, but the bright silver eyes were not those of a child, but of a man who had seen more than his heart could bear. An unfamiliar ring gleamed on his finger, a dark jewel set in an old gold band. When did Tom get _that_? Harry had never seen Tom quite as _real_ as this; he seemed at once both stronger and more fragile, and Harry felt a curious sensation tugging at his soul. He wanted to throw his arms around the other boy and feel Tom's heart beating against his own, but a strange shyness had come over him, and Harry found that he didn't dare. This was Tom, and yet Harry felt as if he were in the presence of a beautiful stranger.

And suddenly, Harry understood: This was not the soul shard from the diary, but Tom _himself_, the boy the piece of soul belonged to. But Tom had been a boy ages ago - how could he be here and so wondrously real?

The scent of lilacs was all around them now, even if it had been September moments ago, when Harry had walked back from class. Perhaps it was not Tom who was out of place and time then, but Harry himself, standing here with Tom Riddle in some long-ago evening in spring? Time must have tangled itself up somehow and thrown Harry back to a long-forgotten May. Yes, he could feel it now: This boy was the real Tom, as he must have been long ago, more whole than the diary shard, and yet newly and painfully wounded. Harry could feel something raw and jagged in the boy's soul, as if something had just been torn from it.

Harry reached for the boy's hand. "What happened to you tonight, Tom?" he whispered. "Where did it go, the shard that tore itself from your soul?"

"The shard from my soul-?" Tom pulled his hand away, deathly white now, and he clutched at his ring. "How do you know? Who _are _you? You look to be a human boy, but perhaps you are not." He reached for his wand, and it trembled in his hand as he pointed it at Harry. "What are you? Some spirit of judgement, or angel of vengeance? What do you know of what I have done? And what is that curious mark on your forehead? Something about it sends a shiver through my soul..."

The two boys stood and gazed at each other for a moment without speaking. Finally, Tom whispered: "What are you doing?"

"I don't know what you mean," breathed Harry.

Tom shivered. "You are doing something to me. I can feel something pulling at my soul, drawing me toward you. I have heard of spirits who bewitch wicked men and lure them into lakes or rivers, where they drown themselves... Are you one of them? "

Harry shook his head. "I'm no spirit, Tom. I am just your friend. Put your wand away, and let's sit here for a while, under the tree. You feel lonely tonight, and your heart is breaking with what you have just done. I think you could use a friend."

"You can't know what I have done!" Tom's voice was a rasp.

_Father, _muttered Shard. _Dead. The second breaking of the soul, and the most terrible. Wanted Father._

"You killed your father today, didn't you, Tom?"

"How... How do you know what I have done?" Tom sounded frantic now. "Merlin, what sort of wizard are you? Did you follow me to Little Hangleton tonight? Were you spying on me? If so, you will not live to tell the tale." His wand trembled in his hand. "I have used the killing curse once today, and I can use it again."

"Hush, Tom." Harry could sense both terror and agony in his friend now, and he put his hand on Tom's cold cheek and gave him a spark of fairy magic for comfort. "I don't want to do you any harm; I'm just here to be your friend."

"What is this?" whispered Tom. "That strange sensation in my heart, like sleep and music and starlight, all at once..."

"Fairy magic."

Tom stood quite still, his face pale in the gathering twilight. "Fairy magic? Are you a fairy, then?" he breathed.

"In a way." Harry reached for Tom's hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Tom laced his fingers slowly into Harry's. Something pulsed, sudden and electric, through Harry's veins, but he didn't know if it was a remnant of the dark and terrible magic Tom had used that day, or something else altogether.

"I wonder if there is a way to undo what you have done today," Harry said when he finally found his voice again. "It seems that time's path is not as always as straight as I used to think. Maybe we can find our way back in time to the moment your soul was torn apart and make it different. I borrowed a watch from a friend this afternoon, and it seems to me that it does more than tell time. Perhaps it has the power to undo your father's death."

"Undo his death?" Tom glanced down at the dark jewel on his finger. "No, there is no turning back now. Even if some sort of magic could bring me back to that terrible moment, it would not change who I am. _I wanted him to die, _and I still do_._ I did what I did, and I would do it all over again. Even if it tears me apart. The tearing will make me stronger, as it did the first time, when I released the basilisk. This is who I am now, and not even you, who are surely nothing but a hallucination of a murderer's fevered brain, can change that."

And Harry realized that Tom was right: There was a strange darkness in his soul that not even fairy magic had the power to dispel. Harry wished with all his heart to make his poor broken friend whole, but he did not know how. But perhaps he could bring him some comfort.

Harry put his arms around Tom in the deepening evening shadows, and he sat with him for a long time under the old oak tree and told him stories. He told Tom stories of birds and of fairies, and then he told him the tale that Shard had always loved the best, the story of the boy who loved the morning star. And Tom listened, and Shard listened with him, until darkness fell and Tom's eyelids grew heavy.

When Tom finally fell asleep in the grass, there was a slight smile on his lips and a faint glow on his pale cheeks. Harry conjured a fairy cloak from the grass and the leaves and the bark of the oak tree and wrapped Tom in it so he wouldn't feel cold. Then he kissed his friend gently on the forehead and pulled Hermione's curious watch out from his robes.

_"_Sweet dreams_, _Tom," he whispered. "And goodbye for now." And then Harry turned the dial of the golden watch back to where it had been when he had found it in the grass.

...

Harry blinked at the sudden splendor of the golden September afternoon light. As his eyes adjusted to the sunshine, he saw Hermione hurrying toward him.

"Harry, have you seen... Oh." She stopped abruptly, staring at the watch in his hand. "You found my... er... watch. Oh, thank Merlin! I have been looking for it everywhere."

Harry handed it back to her. "I don't think that's an ordinary watch, Hermione. It seems to create strange curls in time."

Hermione stared at him, her face white. "Harry, you didn't _use_ the time-turner, did you?"

Harry flushed. "I'm so terribly sorry - I didn't mean to! I just meant to wind it up, but it got stuck, and then I had to use fairy magic to unstick it, and then..."

"Harry? Oh, Merlin, what have you done? Did you travel back in time? How far back did you go? Oh, tell me it was no more than a few minutes!"

"Far," whispered Harry. He was rather alarmed by the expression on Hermione's face. "Did I do something wrong?"

"I don't know." Hermione stared down at the time turner. "You may have. Terrible things happen when wizards meddle with time, Harry. Traveling back in time a few hours is risky enough, unless you are very, very careful. And if you traveled back further than that... The consequences may be too terrible to contemplate. A tiny thoughtless change can alter history and make a whole world spin out of control. You didn't change anything in the past, did you, Harry? Please tell me you didn't meet anyone or speak to them about the future."

"I only met one person," said Harry quickly, "and we did not speak about the future. I just told him a story, that was all."

"You told someone a story?" Hermione pondered this for a moment. "Did you tell that person your name? Did you tell him or her that you were from another time?"

Harry shook his head.

To Harry's relief, Hermione smiled. "I think it will be all right, then, Harry. After all, how much difference can one story make?"

...

"He still looks terrible." The Faerie Queen glanced at the small deformed creature in Peter Pettigrew's arms, an expression of disgust on her preternaturally lovely face. "He looks like something in between a withered leaf and a very old baby."

It was clear by the chill in her voice that the Queen did not care very much for leaves or babies. Peter Pettigrew, still half bewitched and half terrified by the green-clad fairy, whispered: "But surely, your Majesty's vast magic powers will eventually be able to restore him to his human form?"

The Faerie Queen stared coldly at Pettigrew, and he felt a winter brush over his skin. "Do you doubt me, rat? Your master was wise to seek my help, once he realized that the accursed child he hunts possesses the magic of the fairies. I will restore your dark lord to a form human enough to allow him to confront and destroy his enemy, the human child raised by the Unfaithful. But your master has foolishly torn himself asunder with a dark and powerful magic, and it takes more than my Faerie magic to restore him to his body. I have tried, and tried again, and this unnatural and monstrous form.._." _She waved a delicate hand at the small creature before her, "is unfortunately the best I can do at the moment. I am, however, as anxious to crush the Unfaithful as _he _is to defeat that child, and I believe I have found a way to make your master more human in the end. But I will need that child's blood to do it. The blood of his enemy, laced with the faerie magic the Unfaithful have so foolishly given him... Yes, that should restore your master to the form he desires. Although _why_ anyone desires a human form is quite beyond me. Humans are so terribly fragile, rough in appearance, clumsy, and dull."

"Quite, your Majesty," muttered Peter Pettigrew, fixing his glance nervously on the ground by the Queen's feet.

"Now, I know you are not terribly clever, rat-man," continued the Faerie Queen in the same voice of stone and ice, "but all you have to do is to find this tedious child, extract his blood from him, and deliver that blood to me. It should be a simple enough task, even for you."

Peter Pettigrew whimpered. "Impossible, your Majesty! The boy has far too much magic - _your_ sort of magic - for me to be able to overcome him. But he is a simple and trusting child, by all accounts, so there may be a way to outwit him. My master's devoted follower, young Barty Crouch, has brought me strange tidings of an event his father is involved in, some sort of tournament at Hogwarts, the school the boy attends. Barty has a plan, and if your Majesty would be kind enough to lend Barty some of your Faerie magic, Harry Potter's magical blood will be spilled before long."

The Faerie Queen frowned. "But why not give _you_ the magic instead? I can easily give you a form the boy will not recognize, and you can simply kill him and take his blood."

"No... No..." breathed the wizened creature in Pettigrew's arms. "Peter is an idiot. He will make a mess of everything. Much better to send Barty; he possesses both intelligence and a fierce devotion. I need a servant I can trust at Hogwarts. Oh, I know you, Peter; you have done me a great service, and I will reward you for it, but you have a treacherous heart, my friend. You came to me out of fear and cowardice, rather than true devotion."

Peter flushed scarlet, but bowed his head and said nothing.

The Faerie Queen's bright gaze swept over him."It seems your master knows you well, rat. I myself know a great deal about untrustworthy servants, and I know how to deal with them." Peter could not speak; he merely nodded silently.

"I know that Barty will be loyal unto death," murmured the Dark Lord. "Not just out of devotion to the Dark Lord, but out of hatred for those who call themselves Light. He hates his father as much as I hated mine."

"Ah, I see." The Faerie Queen's face was expressionless, frozen in its stern beauty. "I know a thing or two about faithless sons as well." Almost absently, she picked up a small leaf from the ground and tore it to shreds.

The withered thing in Peter Pettigrew's arms made a grimace that looked almost like a smile. "You are wise and powerful indeed, which is why I have sought you out, Queen of the Faerie." He shivered a little and drew his dark wrappings closer around his deformed limbs. "I feel cold, Peter! There is no warmth in this blasted cloak you gave me. Surely, the fairies have warmer clothes than these? I remember dreaming of a fairy once, when I was just a boy. And in my dream, the fairy wrapped me in his enchanted cloak, and it kept me warm until morning..."


	18. The World Quidditch Cup

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**~Chapter 18: The World Quidditch Cup~**

**Author's Note: **Sorry it took me so long to update! Bad writer's block!

**...**

Draco Malfoy stared down at the moldy boot, an expression of distaste on his face. "Don't tell me we are going to travel to the Quidditch World Cup by... by worn-out footwear?"

Arthur Weasley beamed at him. "Precisely! Gather around, everyone! It's almost time."

Harry looked at the boot in awe. "So this boot is going to... what? Kick us all the way there?"

"Believe me, Harry, it's going to feel like it," muttered Ron, who had apparently traveled by Boot before.

Harry glanced nervously at the boot. Human wizards really didn't care about comfort when they traveled, did they? First broomsticks, and now this! And hadn't Ron mentioned something about fireplaces sucking people in and spitting them out elsewhere? Harry _really _hoped Ron had been joking about that part.

"Arthur Weasley! Wait for us! Is that the portkey?" A human wizard with a beard came running toward them now, followed by a tall bronze-haired boy.

"Hello, Amos!" Mr. Weasley smiled and waved at the man. "Yes, indeed! Such a clever portkey, isn't it? For some reason, Muggles never seem to suspect that single boots and shoes left in the middle of nowhere are magical. Is this your son?"

"Yes, this is my Cedric. Prefect and Hufflepuff Seeker!" The man named Amos surveyed Mr. Weasley's companions. "Sweet Merlin, are these _all _yours, Arthur? For some reason, I don't remember you having quite _this _many."

Mr. Weasley laughed. "Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny are all mine - my oldest ones apparated there already. And these are Ron's friends Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and Hermione Granger, and Ginny's friend Luna Lovegood. Children, this is Mr. Diggory, who works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Harry Potter?" Amos Diggory frowned a little. "Cedric's told me about you. The famous "Boy Who Lived" and all that. You are not a Quidditch player, though, are you?"

Harry shook his head. Ron, Draco, and Ginny had tried desperately to teach Harry Quidditch back at the Burrow, where Ron lived, but it hadn't gone terribly well. Harry kept forgetting his broom when he flew, and the little golden ball they were supposed to catch had been so enchanted by Harry's fairy magic that it kept following him around the entire game.

Mr. Diggory studied Harry for a minute. "You have been raised by fairies_, _I understand?"

Harry nodded.

Mr. Diggory immediately produced a stack of papers from his coat pocket. "In that case, you really _must_ fill these in. Nobody has done proper paperwork on fairies for centuries. They are completely unregulated. Could you please fill in these forms and return them to the Ministry as soon as possible?"

Harry stared at the papers Mr. Diggory had handed him. "Erm, what are these? What are _forms_, exactly?"

"Oh, don't worry about it, Harry. George and I will be happy to help you!" Fred patted Harry reassuringly on the shoulder.

"Of course we will. We will make sure that these forms contain absolutely _everything_ the Ministry ever wanted to know about fairies... and then some!" George grabbed the stack of papers eagerly from Harry's hands.

"Thank you, boys!" Mr. Diggory beamed at them.

"Erm, are you sure about this, Father?" Cedric Diggory looked a little worried. "I mean, _Fred and George_?"

"Come closer, everyone!" Mr. Weasley beckoned them to step up to the boot. "Make sure you touch the boot; it's almost time. No, no, Draco - it will only work if you take your glove off."

Draco winced, but pulled his glove off. He touched the cleanest part of the bootlace lightly with his finger, shuddering. Harry grabbed hold of the bootlace as well, and the others reached out and touched various parts of the very dirty old boot.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut as the boot kicked them, hard, into the next county. Fantastic colors swirled around them, intertwined with ribbons of darkness and light, and then...

_Thud. _Harry felt himself land, head-first, in heather. He scrambled to his feet and glanced around. _The Quidditch World Cup. _This was going to be fun!

...

"Excuse me, are these seats over here taken?" Harry, who had reached the top of the stands first, smiled at a little elf who was sitting by herself.

The elf just stared at him with huge dark eyes and shook her head slowly. She was clutching the bench she was sitting on, and Harry immediately realized that she must be as terrible with heights as poor Trevor.

"Oh, are you afraid of falling? Here, I'll help you." Harry gave her a quick spark of fairy magic, and the elf loosened her death-grip on the bench a little bit. She peered fearfully down toward the egg-shaped golden stadium, far below.

"It's all right, said Harry soothingly. "I know it's far down, but there are lots of people in front of you; you are not going to fall." He reached out to give the frightened elf a hug, but for some reason, he stumbled over some sort of obstacle in the seat next to the elf, even if there was nothing to see there. What was _that_? Some sort of invisible fence? Harry kicked the fence a few times, puzzled, and the fence let out a tiny squeaky sound. But nothing moved, and try as he might, Harry could not see anything there. Perhaps someone had set up a magical ward of sorts to protect the nervous elf from falling? That was a rather clever idea!

Harry leaned around the magical fence. "My name is Harry, by the way. Who are you?"

"Winky, sir," breathed the elf.

Harry put an arm around Winky and gave her an extra spark of magic. "There! Are you feeling better now?"

Winky blinked rapidly. "Oh. Winky is... Winky is feeling much better now, sir. Thank you."

But Harry did notice that the elf didn't even watch the stadium when the game started; she just stared at her invisible fence the whole time. Harry himself watched the game in fascination. It was very kind of Mr. Weasley to bring them all to the match, and Harry enjoyed himself immensely, even if he didn't quite see the point in chasing balls on broomsticks. But there were sparkling leprechauns in the sky and very lovely dancers. For some reason, Ron wanted to climb down from the stands and join the dancers, but Draco yanked him firmly back. This was probably a good thing, since Harry had seen Ron try to dance before, and he was not especially graceful. Everyone yelled themselves hoarse during the match, and both Ron and Draco did dance a little at the very end, when someone named Krum... fainted? Ginny was trying to explain to Harry that it was a very special sort of faint, named Wronsky, but she only succeeded in making Harry even more confused.

...

Harry gazed up at the darkened sky with a frown. This really was the most terrible leprechaun he had ever seen! It almost looked like a _skull._

The magical leprechaun figures that had appeared in the air before the final Quidditch match had been quite charming, and Harry and his friends had laughed in delight at seeing them. But _this _one... Harry shook his head. It was a lovely green color and very bright, but the face was much too narrow and looked rather sickly. The leprechaun did not even have a body, just a gaunt sort of face, and its tongue was so long and thin that it almost looked like a _snake. _Harry didn't want to be overly critical of human magic, but this leprechaun needed some serious work.

Harry had heard a lot of cheerful singing from the Irish part of the camp after the match was over, and if he hadn't been mistaken, the fire whiskey had been flowing rather freely in celebration of the Quidditch victory over Bulgaria. Harry squinted up at the strange leprechaun that glittered in the night sky. Whoever had cast this sorry figure had obviously drunk a little too deeply from his firewhiskey.

Harry could hear quite a few people screaming around him now, and he had to admit that there was something rather unsettling and eerie about this distorted leprechaun. Oh, well - only one thing to do! Ever since he was very young, Harry had known about the Ancient Bargain between the fairies and the Irish: An Irishman will never, ever reveal what he knows of the fairies, and a fairy will always cover up for a drunk Irishman. All right, then! Harry focused all his magic upwards.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the glittering leprechaun lost his eerie thinness. His cheeks filled out, and his empty eyes began to twinkle. His snake-like tongue assumed normal proportions and disappeared inside his mouth. Soon, the leprechaun looked cheerful and normal again, and he beamed down from the dark sky.

Much better! Harry smiled to himself.

"What the -?" A group of hooded dark-clad wizards paused nearby, and they stared up at the sky in wonder. "What... what happened to the Mark_?"_

"Nothing," said Harry quickly, remembering the Ancient Bargain. "Just another lovely little fireworks display." He looked around for his friends. Hermione had spotted a bookseller, and Luna had wanted to speak to the Minister of Magic about the _real _Sorting Hat, which was apparently kept under lock and key at the Ministry, while occasionally managing to send coded pleas for help over the Wizarding Wireless Network. Ron, Draco, and Ginny had run off to see if they could find Krum, the player who had fainted. For some reason, they wanted Krum to write his name on their programs, even if - as Harry had pointed out, politely - Krum's name was already printed in there.

Harry gazed around the crowded camp in wonder. There were so many interesting people to see everywhere! Some of them seemed a little shy, like the hooded wizards who tried to hide their faces inside their dark cloaks, but others seemed nice and friendly.

"Mr. Harry," squeaked a tiny voice nearby.

"Oh, hi, Winky!" Harry smiled at the friendly little elf he had met a few hours earlier.

The elf who had just appeared by his side blinked up at the sky. "What happened, Mr. Harry?" She glanced around frantically, as if she were looking for someone. "The Dark Mark... My Master..."

She was beginning to sound as nervous as she had been before Harry had cured her dizziness and fear of heights, and Harry gave her a warm hug. "There, there. Calm down, Winky."

"Harry Potter! What are you doing to Mr. Crouch's elf?" Ron's brother Percy came dashing out of the bushes now. "No, Harry! You must not touch his elf! Mr. Crouch doesn't _want_ his elves to vanish to Majorca; he is very particular about these things. Why is that elf smiling? Leave it alone! Oh, Merlin - there he is, Mr. Crouch himself! Act normal, elf!"

"Er... yes, sir." The elf blinked up at Percy, a baffled expression on her face.

"What is going on here?" An elderly man in a dark suit rushed over to them. "I heard people screaming, and someone shouted something about a Dark Mark, but I..." He gazed up at the sky in confusion. "I don't see it." The glittering leprechaun smiled at him, and Mr. Crouch shook his head slowly.

"Winky, did you see anything out of the ordinary?" His voice was sharp.

"N-no, sir," whispered Winky, still clutching one of Harry's fingers with a tiny hand. For some reason, she still seemed quite nervous.

"Harry! Are you all right?" Mr. Weasley came running, completely out of breath. "There are rumors that someone conjured a Dark Mark, and that Death Eaters have been seen... I've been looking for you everywhere. Percy, you are here, too! Good, everyone's safe then - all the others are back in the tent."

"Hello, Father." Percy Weasley gave his father a brief nod. "Mr. Crouch has everything under control; there is absolutely no need to worry. A _Dark Mark_ at the World Quidditch Cup! I have never heard such nonsense in my life. The Ministry is in charge of security, and everything is perfectly fine. Just some of the fireworks looking a little off; no doubt someone brought non-regulation fireworks into the camp."

Mr. Crouch nodded slowly. "Ah, you may be right, Weatherby. Illegal imports from China, no doubt."

"Really?" Arthur Weasley looked around. "The people I spoke to before sounded so sure." He wiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead. "I suppose tensions are just running high, what with two high-security events in such a short span of time..."

"Oh, is there going to be another Cup?" asked Harry curiously.

Percy smiled ever so slightly. "In a manner of speaking, Harry. That's all I can say for now; you will find out more in due time. Too bad you are too young to compete; my brothers tell me that you have a bit of talent for magic."

...

"Oh, Merlin, look at his _eye!_" Draco gazed up at the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in fascination.

"And his leg..." Ron's voice was a hushed whisper.

Harry leaned forward to see the new teacher better. Draco was right; the professor's eyes were very lovely! He had one regular eye, small and dark, but the other one was a luminous blue, as bright as a robin's egg. His blue eye was darting around, while the other, darker eye held still. The teacher's hair was almost as long as Dumbledore's, and grey as the fur of a wolf. One of his legs was gone, but he had very cleverly attached a piece of oak to his knee instead.

"I wonder how he lost that leg," murmured Ron. "Probably in battle..."

Shard stirred in the back of Harry's mind. _Clever Nagini. Gets her own breakfast if you oversleep.__  
><em>

Up in front of the Great Hall, Dumbledore rose to his feet. "It is my very great pleasure to introduce Professor Moody! Not only will Professor Moody teach you how to defend yourselves against the Dark Arts, but he will also assist the other teachers in organizing an exciting event that will take place at Hogwarts this year. The _Triwizard Tournament _will yet again be held at Hogwarts!"

A murmur ran through the Great Hall.

"The Triwizard Tournament," continued Dumbledore with a smile, "was established over seven hundred years ago, as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of Wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Each school selects a champion, and the three champions compete in three magical tasks."

"Typical," murmured Blaise. "The small private magical schools are always overlooked. What, one wonders, has the Transylvanian Thaumaturgy Institute ever done to deserve this exclusion? Or the Hungarian Hermetic Academy?"

"This year," said Dumbledore, peering at the students over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, "there is a new Age Restriction in place. Only students who are of age - that is, seventeen years or older - will be able to compete. There will be a magical age line set up, to make sure that only those students who are of age are able to submit their names for consideration." He looked directly at the Weasley twins. "The age line uses some very strong ancient magic, so it is completely pointless to try and outwit it."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. You will be able to use fairy your magic to get around the age line, won't you, Harry? We need a Slytherin in this tournament, and you would be great at it."

"What?" Harry glanced up from his dessert. "But I'm only fourteen. The tournament sounds like fun, but I don't want to use fairy magic to get past the age line; that would be cheating. Well, unless..."

"Unless what?" Ron looked up hopefully.

"Just thinking," muttered Harry. _Hey Shard, how old are you?_

Shard thought about it. _Not sure. More than seventeen. _

Harry beamed at his friends. "Maybe the age line will let me through even if I don't use fairy magic. We'll see!" For some reason, the diary in his pocket jabbed Harry sharply in the hip. "Don't worry, Tom," whispered Harry under his breath. "I'll bring you along if I get to be in the tournament."

...

Defense Against the Dark Arts with Moody was even stranger than Lupin's classes had been. For some reason, Moody seemed to hate spiders. He began by showing the class some magic to make a spider dance, even if it didn't want to. But when he proceeded to show the class some sort of Hurting Magic that made the spiders writhe in pain, Harry decided that enough was enough. He grabbed the poor spiders and threw them quickly out of the window and onto the grass.

"What are you doing, Potter?" cried Moody. "You need to know something about the Dark Arts if you are going to defend yourself against them! What would you do if someone were to cast a real curse on you?" He grabbed his wand and pointed it at Ron. "_Imperio_!"

For some reason, Ron began to act very strangely; he jumped onto one of the desks and began to sing.

"And now you, Potter. _Imperio!_"

"What?" Harry blinked up at Moody. "You want me to sing, too? But I don't even know that song."

"Ah, you can resist the Imperius curse, can you?" Moody regarded Harry thoughtfully with his swirling blue eye. "But can you resist _this_?" The next moment, Harry felt something tugging at him, pulling at his very soul. Fairy magic? How could that be? Suddenly, Harry felt an urge to jump up on the desk and burst into song, just like Ron. He moved slowly toward the desk.

"What is happening to Harry?" Draco's voice was a startled whisper. "How can Professor Moody make _him _do things?"

But just as suddenly as it had started, the strange magic released Harry. Harry stopped mid-step and blinked up at Moody in confusion.

"Lesson over for today," growled Moody, gathering up his belongings very quickly. "And remember, everyone - _constant vigilance!_"

Harry stared at the grey-haired man. Professor Moody was a _fairy? _How was _that _possible?


	19. The Goblet of Fire

**~To the Waters and the Wild~**

**Chapter 19: The Goblet of Fire**

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for all the inspiring reviews and messages! I'm afraid I got a bit behind in responding to reviews, but I have treasured every word of encouragement and feedback.

If you are interested in previews of my upcoming chapters and fanfiction stories (and deleted scenes and outtakes from my stories), please check out my tumblr at **paimpont. tumblr. com** (delete spaces).

...

"Potter? Weasley? What the bloody hell are you doing roaming around the corridors in the middle of the night?" Professor Moody grabbed both boys by the front of their robes and stared at them with his swirling blue eye.

"Oh, I was just going to pop by the Great Hall and put my name in the Goblet of Fire," explained Harry, gazing in admiration at Moody's dancing eye. "Is that where you are coming from?"

Moody let go of their robes, and his beautiful robin-blue eye grew still in its socket. "I was just...inspecting the goblet, yes. Tournament security - you can never be too careful. Did you just say that you were going to put _your own name _in the goblet, Potter?" There was something a little bit odd in his voice.

Harry flushed a little. "Well, my own name and those of a few friends..." He pulled a small stack of parchment pieces from his pocket. "I'm pretty sure I can get through the age line, and many of my friends were rather keen on getting their names in as well, so I promised to help them out..." He gazed anxiously up at Moody. "Was that wrong? Dumbledore didn't say anything about not putting other people's names in."

Moody stood so still and silent that Harry was beginning to wonder if he really _had_ done something wrong. But to his great relief, Moody finally smiled a lopsided sort of smile and said: "Oh, I think it will be all right, Potter. If you really think you can get past the age line, I don't see why you shouldn't put your name in. Anxious to compete, are you?"

"Well, of course!" Harry beamed up at him. "The Triwizard Tournament sounds like so much fun. You don't mind, then, if I put all these names in, and my own as well?"

Moody glanced at the parchment pieces. "No, just go ahead, Potter. But it might be best if you don't mention this conversation to anyone; I understand that you boys just want to have some fun, but Dumbledore may see things differently. We don't want to worry the headmaster, do we?"

"Of course not!" Harry smiled at Moody. Absurd as it may seem, there _was _perhaps a slight chance that Dumbledore would be a tiny bit anxious about the younger students competing in the tournament, even if Harry managed to get their names in the goblet. Harry knew that a lot of fairies became very fussy about rules and safety when they grew old, and he assumed that the same might be true of old humans as well. How very thoughtful of Moody to save the aged headmaster needless worry!

Harry and Ron wished Moody a good night and continued on to the Great Hall, where the Goblet of Fire was kept. Harry almost gasped out loud when he saw the Goblet in the center of the darkened room. The Goblet of Fire was the loveliest thing Harry had ever seen, but somehow it was even more enchanting at night than it had been in the daytime. It was a vast cup, carved out of smooth rowan wood and filled with flickering blue-white flames that didn't burn the wood itself in the slightest. In the shadowed hall, it looked like a luminous fountain of fire, and Harry gazed up at it in awe.

"Are you sure you can get past the age line?" whispered Ron, pointing at a thin golden line barely visible on the stone floor.

"Let's see!" Harry clutched the pieces of parchment in his hand and stepped over the line. "Yes, looks like it!" Apparently, the age line really _did _count Shard's age as well, which meant that Harry hadn't broken a single rule.

Harry peered curiously into the goblet. There was nothing in there, except flames and crumpled pieces of parchment students from Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons had dropped in there earlier that day.

Dumbledore had kindly invited students from two other schools of magic to come to the Triwizard Tournament as well, and Harry had been enchanted to meet many of the foreign students earlier. They were all very pleasant and friendly, and Ron had been quite stunned to see that Viktor Krum, who had played in the Quidditch World Cup, was there as well. Viktor and his friends from Durmstrang had arrived in a ship that had popped out of the lake that afternoon, but the students from Beauxbatons had had the good sense to fly in a horse-drawn carriage instead.

"Here we go!" Harry tossed the pieces of parchment into the goblet, one by one. Ron. Draco. Neville. Luna. Blaise. Fred. George. Ginny. Myrtle. Basil. Hedwig. Oooo, the pygmy owl. Ththffth, the mandrake. And Harry's own name, of course. There, that should be everyone! Hermione had not wanted Harry to put her name in, for some reason. She had said something about the _intent _behind the rules that Harry didn't quite catch. Since Dumbledore had said that the Tournament was for students, Harry wasn't really sure if Basil, Hedwig, Oooo, or Ththffth really had a chance, but Harry thought it was worth tossing their names in, just to see.

"Is my name in?" Ron sounded breathless.

"Yes, it is!" Harry stepped back over the age line and stood admiring the flaming goblet for a few moments. "Now all we have to do is wait for the Goblet to decide!"

...

The Goblet of Fire seemed to have a hard time making its mind up. Impatient whispers ran through the Great Hall as the blue-white flames flickered, turned red - and then turned back to blue again.

But finally, the Goblet spit out a small charred piece of parchment. Dumbledore caught it deftly in his hand and read out loud: "The champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum!"

There was a lot of clapping and cheering at this announcement, and Krum himself looked very pleased.

Another piece of parchment descended from the Goblet, and Dumbledore read: "The champion for Beauxbatons will be Fleur Delacour!"

A girl with hair the color of moonlight stood up, and there was even more clapping.

Ron gazed at her in fascination. "Oh, Merlin, she is beautiful! Is she a veela or something?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably. What's the matter, Draco?" For some reason, Draco was glaring at the girl as if her moonlight-hair was some sort of personal insult directed at him.

"Nothing," muttered Draco. "Ron, can you pass the gravy? Hello? _Ron_?"

"Sorry," muttered Ron absently and passed Draco the carrots.

"Another name is coming out of the Goblet!" Fred leaned forward. "This is the Hogwarts one!"

At the front of the hall, Dumbledore reached out for the small singed piece of parchment that flew towards him. He peered at it over the edge of his half-moon spectacles and read out loud: "The Hogwarts champion will be... Oh, dear? What is this? _Harry_ _Potter_?"

A loud cheer rose up from the Slytherin table, and quite a few other students and staff members joined in as well. Ron looked a little disappointed at first, but then he shook Harry's hand warmly and congratulated him. Harry noticed that some of the professors looked a little worried, but Hagrid and Moody were both clapping hard.

"Harry?" Dumbledore glanced over at the Slytherin table. "Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

Harry nodded and smiled at the headmaster. "Yes, but I didn't cheat or anything. The age line just let me through."

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "Oh, dear me. Fairy magic is powerful, I suppose. Harry is, strictly speaking, too young to compete, but if the Goblet chose him, I don't think there is much we can do about this." He drew his breath sharply. "But... what's _that_?"

Behind him, the flames of the Goblet had turned red again, and to everyone's astonishment, another piece of charred parchment popped out of the flaming cup.

Dumbledore blinked at the parchment in surprise, but reached out and caught it. A hush fell over the Great Hall as Dumbledore read: "Harry... Potter?"

A confused murmur ran through the crowd. Dumbledore looked up at the Goblet with a frown. "Oh, dear. The Goblet must not be working properly. It spit out Harry Potter's name _twice._ Well, I suppose there is _really _no doubt as to who the Hogwarts champion is, then!"

Scattered laughter was heard around the room. Dumbledore signaled to Harry, and Harry jumped up and joined Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour as they headed out of the room. There was a lot of clapping and cheering, and Harry waved eagerly at his friends among the students and staff as he walked by.

...

Harry blinked in surprise. What was happening? Dumbledore had told him that he had to come and get his wand weighed before the tournament, and Harry had been happy to oblige. But then a lady in raspberry colored robes had appeared out of nowhere and thrown Harry into a broom closet! To Harry's amazement, her nails - which were as long and sharp as talons - were painted in the same color as her robes. How very odd! She was carrying a bag made out of a dead crocodile, and as Harry watched, she pulled a feather the color of new birch leaves and a piece of long parchment out of the crocodile's belly.

"So, Harry," said the lady, who introduced herself to the feather as Rita Skeeter, "why did you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Well, it sounded like fun," said Harry. "Excuse me, what happened to that poor crocodile?"

"Never mind the crocodile," said the lady firmly. "Now, you have faced deadly danger before, haven't you, Harry?"

To Harry's surprise, the feather immediately started writing on the parchment all by itself. _Harry Potter, a delicate fragile orphan child raised by fairies who fed him on moon-dew and made him little clothes out of rose petals, finally speaks out about his death-wish..._

"Little clothes made out of rose petals? Death wish?" Harry stared at the parchment. "Excuse me, but I think your feather is broken. Maybe this will help." He reached out and gave the lovely green feather a little spark of fairy magic.

The feather froze for a minute, but then it stared writing again: _Harry Potter, who has a piece of broken wizard in his head and a handsome Voldemort in his pocket, admits that he put the names of a mandrake, two birds, a basilisk, and a dead student in the Goblet of Fire..._

"What? What is this nonsense-? _Stop that_!" The lady smacked the green feather with a taloned hand, but the feather kept writing: _When asked about his love life, Harry Potter confesses that his first kiss was with a dementor..._

The lady snatched the feather out of the air and stuffed it back into the crocodile. "Oh, great. Now I have to get a new Quick-Quotes Quill. _What _an inconvenient time for my quill to malfunction." She flung the broom closet door open and stomped off.

...

Harry was ever so excited about the first task. Hagrid, who seemed to know something about what was planned, had promised Harry with a broad smile that it would be something wonderful. "Professor Moody keeps saying that I should give yeh a hint," he whispered to Harry, "but I don't really want ter ruin the surprise. Oh, yeh are going ter love it, Harry!"

And Hagrid was right! Harry felt like dancing as he stood inside the big tent on the morning of the first task with Viktor and Fleur and listened to the exciting noises coming from outside. Harry could hear them quite well through the cheering and clapping from the crowd of humans outside: The deep voices of three dragons! No wonder Hagrid had been walking around with an expression on his face like that of a child anxious for a friend to open his birthday present!

Harry could tell that Viktor and Fleur were overcome with emotions as well. Viktor, a little flushed with all the excitement, stood quite still, staring down at his wand with an intense expression, his lips forming a series of silent spells. Fleur was pacing back and forth so quickly that her long hair was flapping behind her like a flickering beam of moonlight.

And then it began! A round, smiling man by the name of Bagman played a little game with the three of them first: Each of the champions had to put their hands into a purple bag and pick a tiny dragon with a number on it. To Harry's delight, he got a miniature Hungarian Horntail with the number three on it. He petted the little toy dragon and smiled at Bagman: "So now we get to ride on the real dragons outside?"

"_What_?" Fleur spun around. "Surely, ze little boy is joking?"

"Ride on the...?" Bagman stared at Harry for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Good one, Harry! Glad to see that you have a sense of humor, even on this solemn occasion! No, I can assure you that we don't expect anyone to _ride_ on the dragons! All you have to do is collect the golden egg. Mr. Krum - you are first!"

Viktor nodded briefly, opened the flap in the tent and stepped outside. Harry could hear cheers from the crowd. But a few moment later, he heard a great sound, like the roar of thunder, raising above the voices of the spectators. Uh oh. Someone was speaking Dragon, and she was _not_ happy!

*What are you doing with my egg? That's my baby! Bring him back right now!*

"What is he doing?" cried Harry. "Oh, Mr. Bagman, we must tell Viktor not to do that! He's taking an egg from the dragon!"

But Mr. Bagman dragged Harry back from the tent flap. "He's _supposed _to take the egg from the dragon, Harry. Each one of you has to collect the golden egg. That's the whole point of this task."

"But..." Harry stared, wide-eyed, up at Mr. Bagman. "You can't take a dragon's baby away! That's a terrible thing to do! The mother will be _so _upset!"

"What?" Mr. Bagman looked a little flustered. "The golden egg doesn't belong to the dragon, Harry. But because it's placed among the real eggs, the dragons will try to protect it anyway, which makes the task more challenging."

Harry didn't really see how stealing someone's adopted egg was any better than stealing their other eggs, and he opened his mouth to protest. Bagman, however, clamped his hand firmly over Harry's mouth. "Shhh, Harry. It will be fine. Ah, it sounds like Mr. Krum was able to retrieve his egg! Excellent. Your turn, then, Miss Delacour!"

Fleur nodded and headed out of the tent, her wand clutched firmly in her hand.

Harry squirmed, but Mr. Bagman wouldn't let him go. "Just wait a few minutes, Harry. Your turn is next!"

"But what will happen to the baby dragons? Will they give them back at the end?" muttered Harry into Bagman's hand.

"What baby dragons?" Bagman sounded puzzled and moved his hand away from Harry's mouth.

"The ones inside the golden eggs! The ones we are supposed to steal."

Bagman blinked. "Inside the eggs? Oh, there are no baby dragons inside the golden eggs, Harry. The eggs are made of real gold, and the only things inside are the clues for the next task."

"Really?" Harry could finally breathe again now. "Oh. Oh, that's a relief. But... er... do the dragon mothers know that?"

"Probably not." Bagman let go of Harry and pushed him toward the tent opening. "Oh, very good - it sounds like Miss Delacour managed to secure her egg as well. Your turn, then! Make us proud, Mr. Potter!" He shoved Harry out of the tent.

There was a lot of clapping and cheering from the crowd, but Harry wasn't in the mood to stop and wave at his friends. He ran straight up to the Hungarian Horntail, who hovered like a giant black thundercloud before him. *Touch my eggs and die!* she roared.

*Hi!* shouted Harry in his best Dragon. *Down here! Can you hear me?*

The dragon froze for a moment. Then she gazed down at Harry, a puzzled expression on her face. *When did _you_ hatch, little one? I didn't even see you come out of the egg.* She lifted a huge black wing and peered under it. *One, two, three, four... No, my eggs are all here. Whose egg did you hatch from, then?*

*Oh, I'm not a baby dragon,* explained Harry. *I'm human - look, no wings!* He flapped his arms so she could see.

The Hungarian Horntail leaned closer, inspecting Harry with her great luminous yellow eyes. *Hmmm. You do look funny, and you are very small. But you speak like a dragon. Are you sure your wings didn't just fall off?*

*Oh, I'm sure!*

Harry could hear voices yelling something from the crowd now; both Moody and Bagman were shouting something about using magic. But Harry ignored them and turned back to the Hungarian Horntail.

*There seems to have been some mix-up with the eggs. Could you please explain to your dragon friends that the eggs that were stolen from them were not real eggs? Apparently, the golden ones are all fake, and there are no baby dragons in them.*

*What? Are you sure about this?* The dragon peeked under her wing again. *But... But what about _my_ golden egg, then? The pretty one they gave me to raise?* Harry saw a glimmer of gold among the eggs that were tucked under her wings.

*I don't think there's anyone in there. Sorry.*

The dragon rolled the golden egg out and stared at it in indignation. She put her head closer to the egg, apparently listening to see if she could hear anyone moving inside. Then she straightened up, and her vast yellow eyes flashed with fury. *You are right. It's _not_ a real egg! They have tricked me!*

*I'm afraid so.* Harry felt very bad for the dragon.

The Hungarian Horntail drew herself up to her full height. *I don't like being tricked. I _hate _being tricked. Oh, now I'm really ANGRY!* Little tendrils of smoke began to rise from her nostrils, and Harry sensed that this was the beginning of a full-blown dragon fit. He took a few quick steps back.

*They tricked me, and they tricked my friends! With FAKE eggs!* The dragon's voice rose to a storm. She flung herself at the golden egg with a roar and stomped on it, hard. The egg shattered, but as it did so, a strange high-pitched squeaky sound came from it. The sound was soon drowned out by the dragon's bellowing, however, and soon there was nothing left of the egg but a little pile of gold dust. The Hungarian Horntail surveyed the crowd, which was shrinking back before her. She spotted Viktor and Fleur, clutching their golden eggs, and lunged for them. Viktor and Fleur both dropped their eggs and ran, and within seconds, their eggs had been reduced to gold shards as well.

*There!* The Hungarian Horntail stopped to draw her breath, and she looked down at Harry. *I feel much better now.*

A thin, feeble voice squaked from the pile of golden rubble: "_where... voices... hour...look..."_

"Oh, shut up!" snapped the Hungarian Horntail and stepped on the egg shells again. And the egg shells obediently grew quiet.

...

For some reason, Mr. Bagman was not looking well. He kept dabbing at his forehead with a large handkerchief, and he muttered something under his breath about a disaster. "How will the champions get their clues now?" he whispered. "And how can the judges even begin to assign points to what happened out there when _all _the eggs got broken?"

"Oh, I'm sure you will figure something out, Ludo." McGonagall had entered the champions' tent. "The next task is months away, anyway. Congratulations on your fine work, everyone! I am just here to remind the champions that Hogwarts will host a traditional Yule Ball this year in your honor, and that the three of you will be expected to find a dance partner and open the Yule Ball." She glanced at Harry and added quickly: "A _human _dance partner, Mr. Potter."

"Oh." Harry was crestfallen; for a moment, he had imagined how much the Hungarian Horntail would enjoy a nice party after this afternoon's ordeal. "Human. Right. I'll try to think of someone, Professor."

...

"I'm so sorry you lost so many points for the first task, Harry." Tom had drifted out of the diary as soon as the other Slytherin boys were asleep, and he sat leaning against Harry's pillows.

Harry shrugged. "Oh, I don't mind being in last place. Both Fleur and Viktor were much better egg-thiefs, even if the dragon took their eggs in the end. Listen, Tom, there is something I want to ask you: I'm supposed to find someone human to dance with at the Yule Ball, and you are my favorite human. Do you think you'll be able to step out of the diary long enough to come to the Yule Ball?"

Tom's silver eyes shone. "You want me to dance with you? What an enchanting idea, Harry! I would love to come to the ball with you, but I don't know if it will work. I don't seem to be able to emerge from the diary for very long, and somehow, I don't think that Dumbledore and McGonagall will be terribly happy to see me dancing with you at the Yule Ball. I'm worried that they would try to take the diary away from you if they knew that I am in it, and I couldn't bear for that to happen..." He kissed Harry gently on the forehead.

Harry nodded. "You may be right. I don't want to lose you, Tom. You are my dearest friend in the whole world."

Tom smiled. "You definitely need to stay away from Rita Skeeter and her Quick-Quotes Quill, Harry! Imagine what she would do to that poor pen if it writes that a piece of Voldemort's soul is your dearest friend."

Harry thought about it for a moment. "I don't know if she would even believe it. She seemed to think the feather was all wrong when it wrote that my first kiss was with a dementor."

Tom sat still for a moment, just looking at Harry. Then he said: "Then maybe she won't believe it if it decides to write about your second kiss either." And he leaned forward and touched his lips to Harry's mouth. It was a very light kiss, little more than a breath, but it made Harry's heart stand oddly still for a moment before it suddenly remembered to beat again, even harder than before.

"Oh," whispered Harry.

"I'm sorry." Tom was flushing a little. "Did you not like that?"

Harry drew his breath. There seemed to be very little air in the room, all of a sudden. "Oh, I did, Tom. I wish... I wish you could come to the ball with me." He didn't see how he could possibly want to dance with anyone else after kissing Tom.

"Me too," said Tom softly. He glanced around at the sleeping Slytherin boys. "But I suppose you will have do go with one of the other students, just as a friend..."

Something stirred under Harry's pillow. *Harry needs a date for the Yule Ball? I have an idea...*

*Sorry, Basil,* said Harry quickly, petting the little basilisk. *I'm afraid I can't bring you either. Professor McGonagall said that I have to bring someone human. They are quite picky about these things, apparently.*

Basil uncurled himself solemnly. *Well, I know a human who would probably be very happy to go with you as a friend. He's been rather bored for a long time, and I happen to know that he is a good dancer. There is just a small matter of un-petrifying him first, but you can find a way to do that, can't you? A little fairy magic?*

Tom and Harry stared at each other for a while. Then they both smiled.

Tom petted Basil on the head. *Basil, my friend, you are a genius.*

...

As it turned out, Basil was right. Once Salazar Slytherin had been un-petrified and shrunk down to size, he was quite thrilled about going to the Yule Ball with Harry.

"I can't wait to find out what has happened to the school in my absence," he muttered as he headed up from the Chamber of Secrets with Harry. "Hopefully, all changes have been for the better, or they will hear from me!" He glanced curiously at Myrtle as they walked through the bathroom, but Myrtle just smiled from her toilet and stared admiringly at Salazar's long ringlets and elaborate old-fashioned clothes.

As Harry and Salazar stepped out into the corridor, they ran into Professor McGonagall. McGonagall frowned. "What were you doing in there? That's the _girls' _bathroom, Potter! And who on earth is _this_? Merlin, he looks like the portrait of... No, it can't be..." McGonagall clutched at her chest. She looked as if she was going to faint.

"Mr. Potter," she whispered. "Who... what... who... is that?"

Harry beamed at her. "My date for the Yule Ball, Professor!"


End file.
